Second Will Never Be Enough
by quicksiluers
Summary: Street rat. Messenger. Prisoner of war. Grand Vizier of Agrabah. Jafar was all of these things. But he wanted more than that. He would be second to no one. He would be the most powerful man in the room. Because without that, he was nothing.
1. The Boy from the Streets

Life was not easy in Agrabah. The streets were crowded with people coming and going from kingdoms and lands many would never see. At points, the amount of people could make the city unbearable for the citizens who lived there year round.

But for Jafar, it made slipping in and out of crowds easy. He knew exactly what areas of the city to go to at exactly the right time of day to find merchants distracted by multiple customers.

The young boy stretched as he looked out the opening of the building he called "home". It was one of the only things he could call his own. It was small, but serviable for what he could find. And the location was perfect, overlooking the seaport of the massive city. He was able to track when new shipments for certain items would come in just by the style of the boats or the flags that hung from them.

He brushed back his curly hair, a smile creeping on his face. One of the bigger boats had arrived within the port and he knew that the circus of another kingdom coming to visit would cause the distraction that he needed.

Jumping from the opening, Jafar went into a roll as he landed on the rooftop of the neighboring building. He scaled down the side and landed in an alley. The street was bustling with people, merchants voices crying out over the chatter of others, while the sun hung high in the sky.

'Another day in Agrabah', he thought as he merged into the crowd, moving between bodies as swiftly as he could. All his life, he had only known this place. The same routine almost every day, no matter how tired he would be from running away from the guards or one of the many merchants he angered. It was all he knew. There was no mother or father to return to, he had lost them years ago. Jafar only had himself to rely on.

And that was all he needed.

Quickly passing by a table, the merchant was distracted by another customer, Jafar snatched a small apple. His hand slid itself back into his baggy sleeve, stashing the item in a satchel he had hidden under his ragged cloak.

Blending back into the crowd, his eyes scanned around, wary of any of the palace guards. Dealing with them was not something he wished for today, not after last week's incident. His shoulder was still healing from the bruising grip of one of them had on him before he was able to make his escape.

From the corner of his eye, a flash caught his attention. He stopped, receiving some unsavory comments from other passersbys, and gazed at the object. It was golden bracelet, beautiful blue and red jewels adorning the sides, and other smaller details he couldn't make out. But it was stunning and just sitting on the edge of the table. How could one be so careless with something so precious?

The merchants were always foolish. A small piece like that wouldn't be missed by anyone.

Weaving through the crowd, Jafar's eyes didn't leave the sparkling item. Almost as if it had set him in a trance. The amount of food he could get from trading such an item in would keep him set for a week or so at least. As he approached, his hand stretched out towards the bracelet.

"Street rat! Get away from that!"

Snatching the bracelet, Jafar ran before the merchant could grab him. He could hear the yells from the merchant, alerting the guards in the area, but he continued to push against the crowd. Turning down an alley, Jafar sprinted as fast as he could, glancing back quickly to see no one following him.

At the end of the alley, he didn't see any guards. He would snake through the city, make sure that no one was following him, and during the right time he'd make it back to his ho-

He slammed into the hard body of someone, seeing stars for a moment. A hand tightly gripped his arm, causing him to cry out, and yanked him forward into the street.

"You think you can just run off? You have another thing coming boy!"

The guard backhanded him, Jafar could taste blood in his mouth, and attempted to drag him away. The young boy fought, pressing his heels into the ground, hitting the hand that was holding him.

The guard holding him looked down at him, a sneer on his face, "You little brat, if you don't sto-"

"Is everything alright here?"

A calming voice stopped the guard, his head whipping around. Jafar squinted, unable to find the source of the voice. Who could stop the guard with just a command?

A man came through the crowd and Jafar's eyes widened. The clothing was unmistakable, the fabrics prestine, gold lining the edges of the sleeves. The way that the man carried himself, his dark brown beard cut clean, his eyes taking in the scene before him. The ring he wore on his hand.

It was the prince of Agrabah.

"My prince…" the guard's grip loosened, "I was just taking care of this thie-"

"A thief you say?" the man asked, an eyebrow raised, "For someone so small, he seems to be a handful for you."

The prince brushed off the guard, kneeling in front of Jafar. The young boy was still stunned, unsure of what was happening. He didn't realize until he saw the bracelet in front of him that the prince had taken it from his grasp.

"The detail is very nice," the prince admired, turning the item in his hand, "But I would assume not for you. What were you going to use this for young man?"

His gaze was friendly, the question not laced with the anger that Jafar is used to. He tugged on one of his fingers, unsure of how to answer. Should he be honest? But when has that ever helped him? Being honest only ever ended with him getting into more trouble. But this situation didn't feel the same. There was something...different about the prince.

"Food," he admitted, "I needed food."

The prince's brows furrowed, confused, "Can your parents not provide that?"

The young boy shook his head, "No...parents."

For a few moments, there was silence between the two, the hustle of civilians around them providing the only distraction. Jafar's eyes hadn't left the prince's face but he can feel himself becoming panicked. Thinking about his parents hurt him. They didn't want him, they left him on the doorstep of an overrun orphanage. He may as well be dirt to them, to anyone. Who could care about a street rat like himself?

They only brought sadness and anger to his heart.

A roll appeared before him, dragging Jafar from his thoughts. His eyes lingered on it for a moment, before looking up to the prince, who was offering it. His eyes, a deep brown, were warm, "Here. It won't bite, I promise."

His gaze flickered back and forth, suspicious, before slowing taking the roll. He held it in his hands, as if it was precious.

No one had ever given him something before.

Biting into the roll, he heard the prince laugh slightly and he started to talk to one of his personal guardsmen. It was like white noise to Jafar, he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he took another bite. He tried to hide them from the prince, this overwhelming wave of emotions, by trying to hide his face.

Something being placed on his head snapped his attention back and he quickly looked up and saw the prince. The prince's eyes panicked for a moment, noticing the boy's tears, before he ruffled Jafar's curly hair.

"Don't cry...it's ok," he whispered, a soft smile on his lips, "I have an offer for you, if you'd like to hear it?"

Jafar nodded, "They are looking for some boys to work within the palace. You seem very bright for your age...how would you like to come back with me?" the prince asked, his hand resting on Jafar's head.

Shock went through young boy, "The...palace?"

When the prince nodded, Jafar didn't know what to say. There were no words he could think of, just the trembling of his hands. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears he felt welling up again. He needed to compose himself, crying this much was unlike him.

Using his large sleeve, he wiped furiously at his eyes before taking a deep breath, "I would...like that," he answered.

The prince ruffled his hair again, "Wonderful. Than we can go…?" he trailed off, taking his hand off Jafar's head.

Confused, Jafar looked at the older man before realizing, "Jafar."

"Hamed," the prince replied, holding out his hand, "It's a pleasure, Jafar."

Taking the other man's hand, Jafar tried to keep a firm grip, shaking it. Prince Hamed's hand was warm, not as callous as his. He felt slightly embarrassed, someone with such power shaking the hand of a commoner.

Prince Hamed smiled and stood up, their hands still linked. Jafar, for the first time in as long as he could remember, smiled up at the prince, "A pleasure...Prince Hamed."

They walked together, guards following behind, back to the palace. Prince Hamed described what Jafar's duties would be and answered any of the questions the young boy had for him.

This had to be an opportunity. Someone had given this chance to Jafar, to be more than what he was. To gain more power then he had ever dreamed. The people who forgot him, who sneered at him, would regret it. He would make sure of that.

At the same time...the concept of someone caring for him. Who looked at him more then just what he was. There was a warmth within him that he hadn't felt before.

* * *

So...I love the new Aladdin. I've seen it way too many times? Anyway, I also love what they did with Jafar. I thought Marwan did a fabulous job and I really liked the backstory they added to the character. It couldn't be touched on more obviously cause it's Aladdin & Jasmine's movie, but my mind has been racing with ideas.

Anyway, this first chapter was inspired by a FABULOUS comic I found on twitter (the twitter user is orb00001). It's short and I was unable to understand exactly what was being said because it was in a different language, but that comic got me thinking about the different relationships Jafar probably had with the royal family and the people in the palace. Marwan also brought this up in an interview, how he thought that the Sultan brought Jafar in from the streets and he was like a mentor for Jafar until he fell into his jealously, need for power, and greed.

Anyway, I hope y'all like this! I have other chapters planned out too, appereances form Jasmine, my boy Hakim!, and maybe some others. And yes, I checked out the Aladdin Fandom Wiki and they said that the sultan's name is Hamed...so if y'all are wondering, that's where I got that.

Side note, I feel like Jafar as a young boy would be very emotional, he's very lonely!, but as we go into the story...he'll grow into the cold and calculating man that we know. Life does that to you.


	2. New Born of Agrabah

For the past month, the palace had been more chaotic than Jafar had ever seen. Even more so than when Prince Hamed had married the princess of Shirabad, which at points had the young boy's head spinning.

A different excitement was in the air though. The prince and princess' baby had been born and everyone had been overjoyed. Even the people on the streets cheered at the news, gushing about the newborn girl anytime he ventured out of the palace on an errand for the prince.

The thought of the baby girl made him frown as he turned the page of the book that was occupying his time. It wasn't as if he didn't like the baby. How could he, he hadn't even met the small child yet. He wasn't sure what the feeling in his chest was whenever she was mentioned. But he knew he didn't like it.

Jafar sighed, glancing up at the prince. Prince Hamed had been more tired than usual as of late. Which was understandable, from what he understood, the baby wasn't sleeping as well as they would have liked. But the prince still needed to work during the day. The current sultan, Prince Hamed's father, needed all the help he could get from what Jafar observed.

The sultan was...a troubled man. He had been one of the few who wasn't as thrilled over his granddaughter as everyone else. Mostly, from what Jafar gathered from some of the other servants, because she was a girl. By mistake, Jafar had overheard a disagreement between them one night when he was returning to his quarters. He didn't linger around long enough to hear the end of the argument, but knew it had ended poorly when Prince Hamed wouldn't even speak with his father for a week.

Jafar had run back and forth many times that week between the two of them.

Learning quickly was something he excelled at in the time he had been living in the palace. Being the messenger for Prince Hamed had its challenges at the beginning, there were many nights he thought of leaving the palace due to a mistake he had made during the day. But he pushed on and took in all different types of information, from discussing daily activities with some of the servants and guards to reading the many books Prince Hamed had within his office. That was where he flourished. Learning information about kingdoms beyond Agrabah that he had never dreamed of knowing, legends of mystical objects and caves full of gold. Studying occupied most of his free time.

That and trying to train that damn parrot Prince Hamed had gifted him. The thought of the red creature made Jafar inwardly groan.

The prince's gaze turned towards the young boy and he realized that it wasn't an inward groan at all, his cheeks reddening slightly.

"Something bothering you Jafar?" Prince Hamed asked, pushing away the book he was reading.

"No my prince," he replied, trying to hide his embarrassment, "Just...thinking about different ways to cook a parrot."

The prince's face broke into a smile, chuckling, before waving the boy over, "Come here...I'm sure we can brainstorm a few different ways."

Marking his spot within the book, Jafar jumped from his chair, carefully bringing it over to the prince's desk. The desk which looked like a mess, from books to parchments that the prince had been supposed to be reading. He wouldn't tell, but the prince had been nodding off at his desk. Jafar thought he needed the rest.

Hamed rested his hand on the boy's shoulder, "Having trouble with Iago?"

Jafar dropped his shoulders, letting out an exasperated sigh, "He is a beautiful bird my prince, I thank you again for such a gift," the prince gave him a look, causing his cheeks to redden again, "But...he has a tendency to peck me in the head. Even when I try to feed him."

"Does he stop when you feed him?"

"No. I don't think he likes me," he frowned, "And he repeats random things that I say."

Prince Hamed laughed, "Those types of birds tend to do that."

"Yes but Iago is...annoying about it."

Shaking his head, the prince rubbed Jafar's head, before leaning back in his chair slightly, "He'll learn to love you, he'll have to if he wants to eat," his gaze lingered on the boy, Jafar shifting in his chair under his stare, "Jafar, I want to apologize. I feel like I have been short with you this week."

The boy sat up, "My prince…"

Hamed lifted his hand, stopping him, "I know what you will say, but please. Being tired doesn't excuse me from the rudeness I showed you. They were minor things...I hope you can forgive me."

Jafar stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. It had hurt him slightly, it was unlike the prince to scold him as harshly he had over small errors. But he had blamed in on the baby, unfairly or not.

"My prince…," he started before Hamed shook his head, a smile hinted on his lips.

"You don't have to be so formal when it's just us Jafar."

"You don't have to apologize...Hamed," saying the prince's name still felt odd to him, "You have been tired. I shouldn't have made those mistakes."

"You're too hard on yourself my boy," the older prince huffed, glancing around the room, "when was the last time we left this room?"  
Jafar frowned, running through their day in his mind. It had been an earlier start then normal, Prince Hamed had an unexpected meeting, an issue he had to address with the palace guards, and some other small items to run through with the staff regarding his wife.

"If it's taking you that long, then it's been too long," Prince Hamed stated, getting up from his chair and stretching, "How about we make a quick escape for some fresh air?"

* * *

Certain areas of the palace were still a maze for Jafar. It was uncommon for him to follow Prince Hamed toward this wing, usually parting ways before the prince went off to supper for the night.

The pair had walked through the gardens, one of Jafar's favorite places within the palace walls. They were calm and when the flowers were blooming, it was one of the most stunning places he had ever been. A few moments alone there allowed him to clear his head after a long day if work had kept him busy.

They wandered through the library, which had rows and rows upon books. Most of which Jafar had read.

"If you don't slow down on that, I'll find my messenger has become a book himself," the prince teased, patting him on his back.

But now they had wandered down a hall that Jafar was unfamiliar with. Prince Hamed walked ahead of him, nodding to the guards posted at the end of the path. Jafar recognized the younger man, Hakim if he remembered correctly. Prince Hamed had introduced him and his father when he came to live at the palace.

The prince opened the golden doors he had stopped in front of, a smile growing on his face, and Jafar froze in his spot.

"How are my two girls doing?" The prince's voice rang in his ears.

Had he really brought him here? What could the prince be thinking? Jafar felt Hakim's gaze on him, but he was too surprised to even be scared of that concept.

"Jafar," Hamed turned, waving his hand, "Don't be shy, you're allowed in here."

Still unsure, Jafar slowly walked into the royal couple's room, his eyes scanning over all the details within it. It was as gorgeous and spacious as he thought it would be for the couple. At the same time, it was simple. There was nothing extremely flashy about it, which felt right for them.

The room flowed into a large balcony that overlooked the city and seaport that sat below the palace. That was where Prince Hamed had made his way to, his wife sitting under the roof of the palace to be blocked from the sun.

The princess of Shirabad, Sabira, was beautiful. Her dark hair cascaded loosely down the middle of her back, her light brown eyes shining with the sun as she greeted her husband with a light kiss.

Jafar shifted uncomfortably, the feeling of intruding on such a personal moment between the two made him squirm.

Her gaze turned to him and her smile grew, "Jafar, it's so good to see you. Come closer, there's no need for you to stand over there."

Embarrassment washed over him, his cheeks blushing again. He had to stop doing that.

Slowly he walked over to them, watching Prince Hamed gush over the bundle within his wife's arms. Jafar's eyes widened, realizing the newborn was so close.

Many of the servants within the palace had been unable to see the baby as of yet. She was mostly in the princess' presence, which had been largely in the couple's chambers. He was unsure of the reason, he had assumed it was to allow the princess to rest and not have the baby overwhelmed so quickly.

The fact the prince had brought him here…

Stopping behind Prince Hamed, he gazed at the newborn. Her eyes were cracked open enough for him to see they were brown, a small tuft of black hair sitting on top of her head. A hand was poking out from the blanket she was wrapped in and had gripped on her father's finger, which seemed to excite the prince.

His gaze flickered to the prince and the princess then back to the baby. That feeling welled up in him again. It gnawed at his core. The picture of a perfect family, a family he never had. Jasmine would grow up with a loving father and mother, who would cherish her to the end of their days. She would be loved by the kingdom, provided with almost everything.

Jafar never had that. He could never have that, no matter how hard he had wished. It was merely a fantasy for him. The pain from his parents leaving him only grew as he watched the family.

What had he done to deserve the childhood that he lived?

A hand patted his back, which brought Jafar out of his dark thoughts. He looked up at Prince Hamed, confused, "Do you want to hold her?"

"M-me?" Jafar asked, shocked.

Princess Sabira smilled, motioning him to come closer, "Of course. Come here…"

Stepping cautiously, Jafar stopped in front of the Princess. She directed him on the position of his arms, how his hand should be resting on the back of the newborn's head to provide enough support. He nodded along, earning a small laugh from the prince behind him.

Jasmine was carefully placed in his arms and he stood frozen, like a deer in headlights. Everything about this was new to him.

Prince Hamed kneeled down next to him, "Look at that, not so hard is it?"

Jasmine's eyes cracked open more, blinking up at the young boy. Her little hand, which he realized was still out from the blanket around her, grasped his thumb gently.

She was...extremely cute like this. He couldn't deny that, a small smile tugging on his lips. Unsure of what to do, he swayed back and forth slightly. It was something he remembered seeing at the orphanage while he was there.

The prince and princess seemed to find the whole scene adorable, from what he picked up from their conversation, but his focus was on the baby girl. Maybe they had been born differently, but what right did he have to judge someone so small? She had done nothing to wrong him. The dark feeling he festerted wouldn't control him.

The prince's hand rested on his shoulder, the princess smiling at him as she took the baby from his arms, and he wished to stay in this moment. With these people who seemed to accept him.

Because Jafar knew that happiness like this would never last for him.

* * *

I don't know why, but the thought of Iago messing with Jafar and just annoying him makes me laugh sooo much. In particular the live action Iago cause he is just like a parrot and is kind of a troll to Jafar? What a champ.

If you're wondering about timeline, I would say this takes place...a year and a half after the first chapter? The prince and the princess of Shirabad married in that time, does that make sense?

We never got a lot of info about Jasmine's mother in either movies, more so in the 2019 version, so I'm trying to come up with her on my own. I remember reading that a producer or someone in the production of the movie stated that Shirabad had Indian influences in the culture, so the name Sabira is a name I found that means "steadfast" and "patient" which I thought fit my idea of her. But! If you don't think the name works, please let me do. Internet searches don't always work.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Little Jafar is trying his best to not be superrrr jealous but you can't just have those sorts of things fester in you too long...also, Jafar has moved from crying to blushing, what will he upgrade to next.


	3. A Young Man's Choice

"Again. You're overthinking it"

Gripping the handle of the sword, Jafar slid his foot back into position. Across from him, Hakim twirled his sword in his hand before falling into another stance. Sweat beaded down Jafar's face, a wave of frustration coming over him. They had been out here a few hours and he had yet been able to tap Hakim.

Metal hitting metal echoed through the gardens of the palace. The sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the two men training. It was one of the hottest summers that Agrabah had seen in ages. Most, if not everyone, attempted to stay indoors to keep cool during some of the hottests points during the day.

Hakim had other ideas, "You have to be ready for any type of situation, prepared to stand out in the heat for hours on end," he explained as they walked together, "if we can't stand up to heat, then what good are we to the royal family?"

Which is how the duo found themselves out in the blazing sun, Jafar dodging a swing from the older man's sword. He parried an attack, twisting out of the other man's reach. Hakim countered quickly, swinging his sword toward the midsection of Jafar in an attempt to throw him off. Identifying the attack, Jafar turned on his heel and swung his sword out, Hakim's arm exposed. Stopping before the weapon could cut through his clothing, Jafar lightly tapped his trainer's arm.

A sigh left Jafar, smile tugging on his lips, before standing back up fully, "Only took a few hours…," he panted, wiping his sleeve across his forehead.

"Better," Hakim replied with a nod, sheathing his sword, "You're starting to anticipate attacks better."

"It's trying to get used to the flow of it," Jafar explained, putting his own sword away, "and trying not to overthink or think ahead is tricky…"

The two walked over to the edge of the gardens where a tree almost as tall as the palace's walls grew. It's giant branches provided the perfect amount of shade from the excessive heat. Grabbing his discarded shemagh, Jafar wiped the sweat from his face and rubbing his head, still getting used to not having the familiar curls he had been with for so long. It was odd, them not being there, but he felt like it had been time to get rid of them.

The short hair would take some getting used to though.

"You have to admit this heat is ridiculous," Jafar argued, sitting down cross legged on the grass, "I can't remember a day as hot as the last few we've had."

Hakim sat against the tree, setting his sword beside him, and leaned back, "It'll pass like all other things," Jafar shot the older man a look and he laughed, "But yes...it's very hot."

Though the man was a few years older than him, Jafar enjoyed being around Hakim. He was different from most of the other guards, who didn't seem like they wanted to give Jafar the time of day. Busy with their own jobs and lives. But he had gotten to know Hakim from being around the royal family so often. Silent and determined while on duty, but they had talked during some late nights that showed an amusing side to him. Thoughtful as well.

He admired Hakim's sense of loyalty.

"Are you still thinking of joining the army?"

Jafar coughed, choking on the water he had been drinking, and patted his chest, "Who told you that?"

The other man shrugged, "Word gets around, you should know that. Why else would you ask to train?"

He frowned, "Maybe because I wanted to be a palace guard?"

"Don't play dumb…"

Jafar's shoulders slouched, a hand picking at the shemagh that sat in his lap. It had been a thought that was bothering him for a week. More than the idea bothering him was the conversation he had with Prince Hamed about it. His teeth gritted at the name.

It had been a simple idea. The sultan had mentioned it to him one night when Jafar stopped to deliver a message regarding a neighboring kingdom from the prince. They would be looking for new recruits and he thought that Jafar should take a look into the matter.

"You can't be my son's messenger forever," he had stated, leaning back in his chair, "as much as he would like you to be. Keep it in mind."

A seed was planted. It made sense to the young man, he couldn't stay in the same position with Prince Hamed forever. Staying in one position for the rest of his time wasn't what Jafar wanted. As much as he loved being in the palace and being in his kingdom, he wanted to see more. What was life in other countries, other kingdoms like? Princess Sabira would describe her home country in such detail to him when he would ask her, he could almost picture it in his mind. But he wanted to see those places, experience what it was like.

Being at the side of the prince wouldn't allow for that, at least now. Prince Hamed mostly stayed within the walls of the palace, working with the grand vizier and other advisors of his father. The majority of his free time was spent with his family.

Offhandedly, Jafar mentioned it one night to the prince before they separated for the evening. They had come to an agreement about him training with Hakim to possibly become a guard. It didn't seem like a stretch for him to mention possibly joining the army as well.

The anger that had flashed in the prince's eyes shocked him. They argued, Jafar not understanding what had brought such a reaction and Prince Hamed at dismissed him, his backed turned to him.

It had been a week since that happened and he still couldn't bring himself to see the prince.

The younger man shrugged, "I don't know...maybe, I haven't decided. It was just a thought."

"A word of advice?"

"Are you going to tell me not to?" Jafar asked, glaring over at Hakim. Did they all think so lowly of him that he couldn't even join the army?

"It's miserable, trust me," he contended, crossing his arms over his chest, shrugging, "I see what they put those guys through."

Anger coursed through him, his hand fisted into his shemagh, "And you don't think I could handle it?"

Hakim shook his head, "I didn't say that," he shot back, "You could. I'm just saying you could be used better somewhere else."

Jafar's eyebrow's furrowed, "What do you me-"

"Hakim!"

The high pitched cry caused the two young men to turn. A small figure in sky blue charged towards them, a happy laugh escaping the young child as she approached. Jasmine's smile shined, jumping into Hakim's lap and wrapping her small arms around his chest.

"I knew it was you!" she exclaimed, looking up at him, "Mama wasn't sure but I just knew it was you!"

Jafar snorted, covering his mouth to keep the laughter at bay. Hakim, one of the bravest men in the kingdom, was frozen, unsure of how to react to the young princess. The image was priceless.

"Princess…" Hakim sighed, patting her head, "It is good to see you. Where is you mother?"

"She's coming! She was talking to…," her voice trailed off as it she seemed to realize that Hakim wasn't alone under the tree. Her eyes, the shimmering brown Jafar remembered from all those years ago, were trained on him.

"Jaffa?"

He blinked and the young girl was in front of him, her eyes squinting, confusion on her face. She looked him up and down, as if she was trying to find something, before she gasped, reaching up at his head.

"Curls! Where are your curls?!"

Standing on his crossed legs, her hands pawed at his short hair. Jafar's cheeks were a deep red, frustration and embarrassment covering his face. He could hear Hakim chuckling beyond the small princess.

"Jasmine, don't crawl all over him…"

Grabbing the small child, Jasmine pouted as her mother placed her down between the two young men, "But mama, Jaffa's curls are gone!"

Sabira shot Jafar a small smile, before sighing, "It's just a haircut dear...he probably didn't like dealing with them in the hot weather. And it's Jafar, not Jaffa."

The young princes kept up her act, crossing her arms in defiance, "I like Jaffa."

"It's ok Princess Sabria," Jafar stated, a calm expression on his face, "Jaffa is alright. But only my real friends can call me Jafar."

The girl turned swiftly in his direction, gasping, "Am I not a real friend?!"

"Well," he shrugged, looking away from her, "My real friends know my name…"

"But I do! I do know it Jaff- Ja…," she stuttered for a moment, biting her lip, "Jafar."

He held out his hands, clapping lightly for her, "See? Now I know we're friends."

Hakim leaned around the young princess, raising an eyebrow, "I like Jaffa though, more fun to say."

Jafar groaned as Jasmine cheered, turning to Hakim and chatting non-stop with him. The older man's expression became slightly distressed, shooting him a "help me" look that Jafar pretended to ignore.

Jafar stood and he found Princess Sabira's hand rested on his shoulder. He looked up at her, "Do you mind if we speak for a moment?"

He bowed his head, though his heart screamed for him to come up with an excuse not to speak with her, "Of course princess."

"Jasmine," Sabira called, getting her daughter's attention, "Why don't you and Hakim go to the kitchen and get some snacks to eat out here? If you don't mind Hakim?"

"Of course princess," he replied, his hand in the vice grip of Jasmine.

Jasmine sprung up, Hakim right behind her, "That sounds perfect! What a great idea mam. Let's go Hakim!"  
The duo walked off, Jasmine almost dragging the poor man along. Jafar couldn't help but laugh, covering his mouth with his hand again to keep his composure.

Sabira smiled, shaking her head, "That girl has more energy than I have ever seen."

"Children often do," he replied.

Grasping his elbow lightly, Sabira brought Jafar over to a bench that sat a few feet away from the tree, though still within the distance of the shade it provided.

Sitting down beside the princess, Jafar's hand sat on his lap, posture rigid. There was only one subject she would bring up with him and it hurt him more then he should allow it. The princess probably thought him a fool, the idea of him of all people wanting to join an army. Prince Hamed probably regaled her with his ludicrous suggestion.

"Jasmine had a small incident this week. You see," Sabria's voice, light and comforting, broke him from his spiraling thoughts, "She was having fun here in the garden, chasing after a small bird of all things. I was talking with my hand maid's, took my eyes off her for one second.

"She tripped, scraped her knee," a smile tugged on Sabira's lips, "it bothered her for a moment, but then she was fine. Skipping around, laughing. But when I told my husband before we had supper…," she trailed off, turning her head and meeting Jafar's gaze, "You would have thought she was seriously injured. It took some time for me to calm him down."

Jafar frowned, confused, "What does that have to do…"

"My husband is an overprotective man," she injected, her hand resting on his shoulder again, "The idea of someone he cares about being in any type of potential danger sets him on edge. I had a feeling this issue relates to the argument you two seemed to have early this week."

"He told you." His voice was flat, turning his gaze away from the princess.

"No, he didn't admit it. But I figured something happened when I didn't see you all week," her voice was soft, an understanding behind it, "He did mention at some point that his father was trying to gather more people for his army, younger men. I added up the pieces from there.

"Am I close?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jafar stayed silence. An anger flared in his chest, how easy she was able to figure it out. What sort of game was she playing? Did she mean to tease him with this information? Mock him for losing the one connection he had within these walls?

What right did she have?

'_Calm yourself…'_

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath. Thoughts like that did nothing for him. Letting his anger fester didn't help him. Princess Sabria meant no harm. She only wanted to help.

He rubbed his head, fingers running through the short strands, "It was only a suggestion," he shrugged, "I didn't think….he would be so upset."

"I don't think it was just that you suggested it," a sigh escaped her, Sabria shaking her head, "The fact that I assume it was his father who suggest it to you?" Jafar nodded. "That probably didn't help matters. Hamed has had issues with his father for some time now, you know this."

What she said made sense. Prince Hamed's relationship with his father was strained at the best of times. But it didn't help the frustration Jafar felt, the pain in his chest.

"I don't know what to say to him," he muttered, turning his gaze to the princess, "He probably doesn't want to see me."

Soft hands grasped his own, an understanding in Sabria's eyes, "When you speak with him, you'll know what to say. And he won't admit it, because he is also a stubborn man like yourself, but he has missed you. I see it when he turns his head to speak with you and your presence isn't there."

Jafar missed it too, his conversations with the prince. How he would ask for his opinion on matters when he was unsure on the subject. Discussing one of the many books they shared a common interest with. Even showing him the progress that had been made with Iago, who still didn't listen to Jafar completely but had moved past trying to attack him for food.

Prince Hamed always laughed at their antics.

Sabira's grip on his hands tightened, "He should be up in his study, he's free most of the day. You should speak with him."

A lump had grown in his throat, his eyes fixated on their hands. Hundreds of scenarios ran through his mind on how it could end badly, how he could make the situation become worse. Everything he touched seemed to rot in time, how would this relationship be any different?

'_Don't overthink it.'_

Hakim's voice echoed in his head. He couldn't continue to assume what was going to happen. It needed to happen naturally.

"Can you please tell Hakim I will be back?" He asked. "We were supposed to train more."

Smiling, she nodded, pulling her hands back from his, "Of course. I'm sure his time will be preoccupied by a certain small child."

"My condolences to him," he replied with a small laugh, standing from the bench. He bowed his head to her, "Thank you my princess."

"You're so formal Jafar," she chuckled, "Go, before Jasmine returns. She'll never let you out of her sight."

* * *

His feet were rooted in front of the door of Prince Hamed's study. How long he had been standing there, staring at it, he didn't know. To anyone passing by, the sight was probably strange. A panic had settled in his chest. What if, even with an apology, he wasn't forgiven? Banished from the palace? He couldn't go back to the streets.

That thought horrified him more than anything.

'_The prince wouldn't do that...you're being dramatic.'_

Closing in eyes, Jafar inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled, trying to calm his nerves. Best to get it over and done with as quickly as he could.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door. His head hung, gaze on his feet, waiting for a response. What were seconds felt like hours. The princess must have been mistaken, he must be busy with other ma-

"Come in."

His head shot up, eyes wide. The moment of truth.

Carefully, he opened the door, surveying the room. It wasn't as organized as before, some parchements littered the ground, books lingering by the shelf but not in there normal resting place.

Prince Hamed sat at his desk, head down, looking over a document he held in his hand. He hadn't looked up to see who had entered his study.

The door closed behind him, Jafar kept his distance. He stood at attention, arms behind his back, his feet apart. His hands shook behind him, "My prince."

Hamed looked up, startled by the voice, "Jafar?"

Nodding to him, Jafar pushed on, head bowed, "I came to apologize. My behavior early in the week was childish. I hope you can accept my sin-"

"Jafar."

The words caught in his throat. His train of thought lost, he felt panic creeping over him. His gaze stayed at his feet, but he could hear thc prince's clothing shifting, rising from his chair. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. His plan was crumbling and along with it, his resolve. How did he allow the prince to continue to affect him like this? Revert him to the small boy that had lived on the streets all those years ago?

"Is there something interesting on the ground?"

Jumping back slightly, Jafar's head shot up. Prince Hamed looked down at him, an eyebrow raised, "They were cleaned the other day, but they can't be that interesting."

"I…," he stopped, no words coming to him as his mind raced.

The prince shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him, "It seems to me...whenever we have these types of discussions, you're the one always apologizing…," a sad smile touched his lips, "when it should be the other way around."

Jafar's eyebrows furrowed, taking a step toward him, "My prince, I must ins-"

"The argument was so bad it reverted you back to only saying 'my prince'," Hamed muttered, sighing, "How foolish of me."

Flustered, the young man pressed on, "There is ...nothing you have to apologize for, I was out of li-"

The prince's hand grasped the back of his neck, his hold gentle. He leaned down, their eyes at the same level. There was something in them that Jafar couldn't place. A sadness…but there was more to it.

"My anger that night was wrongly directed at you...when I heard you mention the idea of the army, I…" his voice trailed off, looking away from him with shame.

Sabiri's words echoed in Jafar's mind, "You heard the sultan…"

Hamed's eyes shot back up to his, surprised, a small laugh escaping his lips, "Have you been speaking with my darling wife?"

"There is a possibility…,"Jafar conceded, a small blush forming on his cheeks. He didn't mean to give away the princess that easily, "She put the pieces together."

"A talent of her's," Hamed agreed, "But yes. We had a disagreement about it the day before and when you mentioned it, in my mind I thought of it as a taunt from him. My anger was misplaced."

That idea hadn't crossed Jafar's mind. The sultan using him? It made sense, he would know of his close relationship with the prince. He would know that any sort of message from him would be reported back to his son. Anger flared in his chest. To be used like that, like some sort of pawn.

What hurt the most from their argument hadn't been addressed. "Do you think I could do it?"

Hamed's eyebrows furrowed, "Do what?"

"Go into the army? Do you think I would be able to do it?" It was childish, this need of approval. But Jafar yearned for it, even now. It was funny. When it was him on the streets, he only had himself to rely on. Only himself to trust. He didn't care about the opinions of others, they all had shared the same ones about him.

But the prince trusted him, brought him in. All Jafar ever wanted to do was make him proud. To show it wasn't a mistake to bring him in from the streets. To prove his worth to the kingdom. Show the whispering delegates, whose gaze would linger on him as he walked with the prince, that he wasn't just some street boy.

In the end, he would prove them all wrong. He would rise above them all.

An understanding came over the prince's face, "It seems there was more of a misunderstanding then I realized. Of course you could Jafar. You are a bright young man, if it's your heart to desire to do so...I won't stop you."

Jafar's shoulders slumped in relief, "I had thought maybe…"

Hamed's hand slide down to his shoulder, squeezing it, "I'm sorry if you felt like I was belittling you. It wouldn't be my first choice...but if it was what you wanted, I wouldn't stop you."

"I haven't decided yet," Jafar injected, "It's just an option...I would still like to be by your side. If that is what you desire as well."

"Always so formal Jafar," Hamed replied with a smile. He stood up fully, hand resting on Jafar's shoulder, "Of course you can. There are other duties that I can find for you as you gain more experience. If it interests you, you could be my eyes and ears when it comes to visiting some of the other kingdoms. Since I have been unable to do so these past few years," the young man's eyes lit up at that idea, nodding along, ''unless you have already decided to become a palace guard?"

"Ah, no not yet, what made you think…?"

"Well I assumed, I heard you training with Hakim out there in the gardens. And," his hand moved from the young man's shoulder to his head, giving it a rub, "You cut off all your hair."

He groaned, earning a laugh from the prince, "You daughter mentioned the same thing. Should I alert the family when I get another haircut, my prince?"

"On such an important manner? Of course."

* * *

The night sky was littered with hundreds of stars, Jafar's eyes taking in all of them. In his quarters, he sat in an alcove, his mind racing. The idea of acting as stand in for the prince on kingdom relation matters enticed him. It was perfect for him.

With it, he would rise through the ranks. Gain the respect he deserved, the power that he strived for. Continuing to gain the confidence of the prince, who was soon to be sultan.

The opportunity allowed anything to be possible.

His mind even played with the notion of becoming the grand vizier.

It would take time. Patience. But he had plenty of that, learning from his days of stealing off the streets. He would just have to sit and wait, playing his cards right.

Like a snake waiting for its prey.

* * *

This chapter turned into a monster and became so long, I only blame myself. I was like "let's have hakim and jafar talk, and oh let's have young jasmine! and young jasmine must have the her mother, let's have her talk to jafar! and of course the prince!" so you get my longer chapter since this one took me a few days.

Next chapter will be different for sure, gonna get a little angsty and dark, and that's why we have a bit of fluff here. But we still got that anger that Jafar is trying to keep down...which is growing more in age.

Also, I don't know why I thought the idea of Jafar cutting off his curly hair for the look he has in the movie would be funny, but it is. Cause Marwan's curly hair is so nice and it's a CRIME we didn't get it.

Shemagh - (pronounced "shamay" or "schmog") is a soft piece of woven cotton cloth, kind of like a giant heavyweight bandana.


	4. A Prince's Despair

So this one is a bit different. The point of view for this chapter is Hamed, you'll see why when you read. I wanted to let you know there's short clips of flashbacks within the the story, those wil be in italics. I tried to have them follow within what was happening at that scene at the time. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"You're doing it again."

Sabira always saw right through him. The first time they had met, there was a fire in her eyes that he never seen before. Respectful towards her father, but not afraid to voice her opinion in such a way that left the room in a strong silence.

It caught Hamed's attention immediately. Unlike the other suitors, she had a spark. When they would walk together through the gardens, their conversations came with ease. At that time, the thought of her leaving his side was unbearable.

Through the years, that feeling never changed. Neither did her knack of being able to read him like an open book.

His eyes gazed up at his wife, who had a small smirk quirked on her lips, "Doing what again?"

Her eyes rolled, "Don't play dumb, you know what," she replied, leaning her hip against his desk, "You're worrying. Like you have for the past few weeks since Jafar and the other couriers left for Zeidan."

Zeidan. One of the few kingdoms that Hamed had never visited and knew very little of. From the maps they had, it sat on the other side of the country, a port city like Agrabah. He had only heard stories from merchants and others who had travelled to their kingdom through that land. It had been a mystery for most of his life that he wished to experience.

A letter had been delivered to the palace months ago from the leader of Zeidan, offering to host any delegates that Agrabah wished to send. A new sultan had been crowned recently, as written in the letter, and they wished to create a bond with the kingdoms that they had yet to speak with.

He had jumped at the idea, not only for creating a new ally and strengthening their kingdom, but for selfish reasons. To visit a land unknown to him, learn their culture, gather information that could be used to help Agrabah.

To escape from his father, just for a short time.

The last few years had not been kind to his father. With each passing day, he felt the strain of their relationship more. It was beginning to break apart at the seams with the delusion he had that Shirabad would attack them, betray the treaty that had been written when he and Sabria married.

But his father didn't trust Sabria's father and the feeling was mutual. Tension between their two nations had been high because of the ruler's loathsome feelings toward one another.

Sabria had tried to calm her father down with her letters, but they had been returned unopened. There were other letters she had received from her youngest brother, who worked under their father, stating that he too was slowly spiralling out of control.

In the end, these issues lay at Hamed's feet. They were too big to ignore and taking a trip to Zeidan was something that he couldn't afford to do.

Which was why he had sent Jafar in his stead.

"I'm not worrying," he countered his wife, leaning back into his chair, "I'm just reviewing the reports that have been provided to me during their journey.

"Darling," her hand slide across the desk before she entwined her fingers with his, "You've read those reports so many times, I'm surprised you haven't memorized them."

He chuckled, squeezing her hand, "It's good to know all the details."

"When Jafar returns, I'm sure he will regal you with all the details," her eyebrow quirked up with a playful smile, "He tends to do that everytime he returns."

"I'll paint a picture for you," Jafar had joked as he packed his camel for travel, "It will be like you were there with us."

Hamed had laughed, "Your stories tend to take up most of my time whenever you return from these trips."

Turning, Jafar's eyebrow had risen, "You ask for as many details as I can provide. I just present you with what I have," a smirk tugged on his lips, "Do apologize for Princess Sabira for me in advance."

His eyes had followed the young man as he climbed to sit atop the camel, "I shall let her know," he replied, worry in the pit of his stomach, "Watch the sands. With everything that is going on…"

"We will move with the utmost caution my pri-"

"Hamed."

Jafar groaned, "Hamed. I'll...continue to practice that."

"You'll have plenty of time," Hamed stated, a teasing smile on his face, "Be careful. We'll see you when you return."

Their light laughter echoed off the walls of their chambers. The prince stood, their hands still together, and walked around the desk to stand with her. Pressing a light kiss above her brow, he couldn't help smiling down at her.

Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing it lightly, "I know how badly you wanted to go," her voice was a whisper, an understanding to her smile.

Shaking his head, he brought her hand up to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles, "We can't change that now. It's best I stay with this...situation between our fathers."

"If those two men could get their heads out of the sand," Sabiria bristled, "If they continue down this path..."

A strong knock echoed through the room.

Confused expressions were shared between the two before Hamed shrugged, "I could tell them that we're busy…"

She snorted, playfully pushing him, "As much as I would love that, no. Don't make whoever it is wait too long."

Hamed sighed, separating himself from her. Striding across the room, he grasped the handle of the door and pulled it open.

Hakim stodd a few feet away from the door and he couldn't help but smile, "Hakim. I didn't expect to see you. What can I help you with?"

The guard bowed his head, "My prince. There is a matter that needs you attention."

A frown pulled at his lips, "Is it urgent?"

"Absolutely."

Hakim was a stoic young man, but there was something about his presence that gave him pause. Their eyes had only met briefly once, his body language tense. It screamed out to him that there had been an incident of some kind.

"Very well. One moment," he turned from his trusted guard and his gaze fell on Sabira, "I'll be back soon."

She nodded, "Of course. I'll have Jasmine back and when you return, we'll have supper."

Smiling, longing to stay with her, Hamed turned away and walked into the hall with Hakim. Together, they walked with a brisk pace,."Is there anything else you can tell me regarding this meeting Hakim?" He asked, casting a sidelong glance to the young man. If this was as urgent as was indicated, he wanted to have any knowledge that could be provided. A meeting with his father always brought challenges, especially when he was unprepared regarding the issue.

Hakim shook his head, his gaze turned from the prince, "I'm sorry, I was ordered to only provide that much my prince."

He blinked, surprised, "On whose orders?"

"My father's."

A small fear gripped him. Nu'man, Hakim's father, was one of the most trusted guards within the palace walls. There was nothing he didn't know regarding the kingdom when it came to its protection. It would be unlike him to call such a secretive meeting unless there was a reason. Which meant whatever this issue was, it was an issue that could affect them all.

Lost in his thoughts, Hamed was brought back by Hakim's knocking on the grandiose doors of the sultan's study. "Who is it?" a deep voice called from within.

"Hakim and the prince Hamed." He responded.

One of the doors cracked open, Nu'mans sharp brown eyes shifting from his son to Hamed. His expression, though hard to read to the untrained eye, was distressed. The fear in him only grew.

Ushered into the room, he was surprised to see that only he, his father, Hakim and Nu'man were within the walls. Nu'man secured the door, walking back toward the desk where the sultan sat.

His father's eyes bore into him the moment he entered the room. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up from the small chill that ran through him.

"Nu'man, what has happened?" he asked as he approached the desk, Hakim standing off to his side, "This all seems very secretive."

"There's been an attack."

It felt like his heart had stopped for a brief moment. An attack? He composed himself, eyebrows furrowed , "An attack? Against who? Where?"

Nodding to his son, Nu'man's eyes turned back to the prince, "One of our couriers groups. Ten or so miles from the city. Hakim and I were out patrolling the outskirts of the kingdoms inland borders when he saw it."

Hamed's head whipped around to Hakim, who had placed a small sack on the sultan's desk, "Saw what?" He asked with desperation, trying to keep himself calm. This couldn't be happening.

The young guard's eyes met his and Hamed knew in that instant what group it had been, but his heart clung to the possibility that it wasn't so. "A messenger bird my prince. It was high in the sky, but I…," he trailed off for a moment before composing his expression, "Before I was able to call it down."

"But only their owner's…" Hamed's voice faded as he watched Hakim bring up a small cage that had been hidden behind the desk. Within it sat a scarlet macaw, it's red feathers ruffled, and it's head twisting in any direction.

"Jafar showed me how to call him down, in case he wouldn't land where all the other messenger birds were," he explained, looking at the bird, "when he came down, he was squawking about an ambush."

"I finally found some use to Iago," Jafar had stated to him, the bird in question resting on his master's shoulder, "a messenger bird."

That had surprised the prince, his eyebrows raised, "Really? I didn't think he would have the patience for something like that."

He hummed in agreement, glancing at the bird, "We've come to an understanding, as much as one can with a bi- stop that...," Jafar swatted at the bird, which tried to beck his turban.

"Message! Snack!"

"Ambush!"

The macaw's wings spread out in the cage, attempting to escape, "Ambush! Escape!"

An ambush? The dread of the situation was beginning to overwhelm him. His eyes glanced to his father, who hadn't said a word through this entire ordeal. There was a smugness in his eyes, as if this predicament was some sort of victory for him.

It all fell into place in his mind. An ambush. On a group of couriers coming home from another kingdom. No one else would dare to attack them, except…

"After we realized the potential of the situation, Hakim and I took a few men out into the desert, following the bird," Nu'man explained, "When we arrived...the camels had been killed. What we assumed were the belongs of whoever was in the group were thrown around the sands."

As his father spoke, Hakim reached into the sack and took out a few different items. Little trinkets, letters that were dotted with dry blood, and other miscellaneous objects. Another item was pulled from the sack, resting in Hakim's hand. Hamed's eyes widened.

It had been one of the rare occasions that Hamed had left the palace. He had more time to do it in his youth, wandering the streets for hours before being recognized by the people. Now he couldn't take one step out of the palace walls without at least two guards.

Jafar had volunteered to come with him. They walked together through the market, people bowing to him before he could insist it wasn't needed. The young man beside him seemed distracted, "It has been a long time since I've been out here," he explained, "but it hasn't changed."

At one point, they had been separated. Hamed could see his back through the crowd, talking to a merchant at one of the stalls. There was an item in Jafar's hand that he couldn't make out.

When he returned to his side, his messenger held out a ring. It was silver, lined with small details along the sides and a black jewel resting on top. Jafar smiled at him as he slipped it on his finger, "I had always wanted one of these when I was a boy."

The ring rested in the palm of Hamed's hand now, the small detailed crevices covered in blood. It took everything in his power to keep his hand from trembling, "Do we know…?"

"Yes my prince. We found this." In Nu'man's hand, a golden coin was held up. It was small, but unmistakable in his eyes. A tiger's head was engraved in the middle, the glitter of the gold as bright as he remembered when he had first visited that place.

Shirabad had an infatuation with gold.

"It was found among the other items that were scattered. In one of the couriers bags, towards the bottom," Hakim clarified, a deep frown on his face, "As if it was deliberately put there. To…send a message."

"But why go after a group of couriers?" Hamed asked desperately, looking between the two guards, "And to bring them back to Shirabad?"

Nu'man's expression was grave, "I believe they were after you, my prince."

The notion caused him to freeze. After him?

"Don't act so shocked Hamed. Isn't it obvious?" His father finally injected, waving a hand toward his son. "They probably meant to ambush that group and take you as their prisoner, forcing my hand into doing whatever that idiot over in Shirabad wanted."

"How would they know I was planning to go to Zeidan?" He countered, the ring clenched in his hand. "There were only a select few who knew."

His father's eyebrow quirked, "Why do you think we're having this meeting in private?"

His glare at the older man was fierce, an unsettling revelation dawning on him. "You think there's a mole in the palace?"

"There is no exact proof, my prince. But there is a possib-"

"Or it could be that darling wife of yours," his father interrupted, "It is on-"

"Don't." Hamed growled, pressing his hands into the desk and leaning toward his father, "You have no right to accuse her, how dar-"  
The sultan's laughter echoed through the room, sending a chill down his spine. "No right to accuse?! Oh you simple boy, you don't understand! Her father is a menace and you are blind to her ch-"

His fist slammed on the desk, rage coursing through him. His eyes met his father's, "You know not what you speak. Try to accuse Sabira again...and we will be having another discussion."

They stood there, the tension within the room almost suffocating.

"These attackers knew the exact route they would be travelling," Nu'man stated, glancing between the two royal family members, "Someone knew something. But not enough to know that the prince had to cancel his involvement with this trip."

"But why go to the effort of capturing Jafar and the other's?" Hamed questioned, leaning back from the desk. Being in the same room with his father was beginning to make his skin crawl with disgust.

"We are working to figure out why. As of now, we believe they are still alive."

* * *

Walking back to his chambers was like walking in a daze. Scenarios ran over and over in Hamed's head as to what happened, what could be happening now to the group. How, even though it was impossible, he could have maybe stopped it from happening.

Hakim walked beside him, silent, the sack of items clenched in his hand. Another argument had begun to break out between Hamed and his father regarding Sabira and they had to be separated by Nu'man and his son.

Looking sidelong at Hakim, he stopped in the middle of the hallway. The young guard paused, turning on his heel and looked back at him. "Hakim...what else did you see out there?"

He watched the other man look away, his shoulders slumping. They stood together in silence, moments turning into minutes, before Hakim's gaze met his. Worry was written all over his face, which in turn caused his desperation for answers grow.

The idea of Jafar and the other couriers being snatched right under their noses…

"My prince...did Jafar carry anything with him identifying himself as your messenger?"

Hamed's brows furrowed, thinking back to the day the young man left the city. From what he understood, Jafar only declared himself as his messenger when asked. There was nothing on his clothing that would give it away, aside from the clothing that he wore. But even then, it wasn't uncommon for a messenger in his position to where such fine fabrics. The ring that rested in hand wouldn't have been a tipping point because, while beautiful, it was simple piece.

"There's nothing that comes to mind...and even if they could identify him, I don't think their sultan would remember him," he muttered, his thoughts racing, "When he came here last, Jafar was still young."

While he spoke, Hakim dug through the sack that he held in his hands. The sack was set on the ground and Hamed's eyes were met with a leather bound notebook. Like the letters, it had dried blood on it's cover and the corner of the of it seemed as if it had soaked in a pool of it. Hakim handed it to the prince, who turned it over in his hands before slowing opening to the first page.

"I found it off the main site of the attack. It doesn't say his name, but the handwriting seemed to be Jafar's," he reasoned, "There are some notes specifically regarding you and what he wanted to inform you about. I fear that whoever took them...may have read it."

Flipping through the pages, Hamed's eyes scanned through the sentences upon sentences on every bag. The book was incredibly detailed oriented, one moment discussing the architecture of the buildings that lined the streets of Zeidan or a simple description of the gardens and their hundreds of flowers.

What caught his eye were the side notes next to the lines of information. Little arrows pointed to certain phrases, an abbreviated name next to them. As if Jafar was reminding himself to specifically mention certain things to certain people. There was a note for Hamed assumed was Jasmine, relating to the flowers and animals that lived within the kingdom. Another one for Sabira regarding the different ships that lined the port of the city.

But overwhelmingly, there were a number of notes for him. His name wasn't fully written out, "Ha" was what was written, but it did leave him feeling numb. If the sultan of Shirabad discovered that Jafar was his messenger, he could use him. In the state that man was in, Hamed didn't want to think of what they would do to him.

But the notebook had been left with the other items, not brought with them. Which meant that they wouldn't know.

"If they had known or figured out who he was...they would have taken this with them," Hamed disputed, cradling the book in his hands, "It would have been used as proof."

Hakim nodded, "It would be for the best that they didn't know it was him."

* * *

Sitting back in his chair, the ring twisting in his hands again, Hamed watched his wife pace back and forth. She scoffed and her fists clenched, "He nerve of that man, to even put together a plan to go after you!"  
"But he didn't get me," Hamed injected, "And Nu'man didn't confirm that I was a target, it was just a-"

"Hamed please," she stopped him, holding up her hand in his direction with a glare, "You know you were the target. Why else go after a simple couriers group?"

He sat back in silence, no answer for her. She stopped, sighing, and walked over to him. "If there was someone in the palace who reported it back to my father...they must have left before it was decided you wouldn't make the trip."

"I don't like the idea of my father's notions being correct…"

A small smile graced her lips, her hand cradling his cheek, "And you know that I agree with you. But this squabble between the two has escalated...and with them having Jafar…"

His hand grasped her's, "They can't know it is him. Your father only saw him once and it was brief. And years ago, he couldn't…" His voice trailed off as he watched Sabira's face morph into panic. "What?"

Rushing from his side, she crossed the room and kneeled down at small draw. Ripping the top one open, she dug through the items within. He followed, peering over back to catch a glimpse. Her hands were full of different letters, old and new alike. She would briefly scan over them before tossing them aside, searching.

"Sabira, what are you doing?" He asked, picking up one of the discarded letters. His eyes scanned the words, "Are these letters from your father?"

"Yes." Her answer was clipped, digging through the second draw. He watched her pick up another letter and freeze, eyes widening. Slowly, she stood up and held out the letter for him, hand trembling. "Hamed…"

Taking the letter, his read over the words. It was dated only a few years ago, most likely one of the last letters her father had sent to her before the tension between the two kingdoms. Nothing jumped out to him, questions regarding the kingdom and how he and Jasmine were. Hamed looked up at his wife in confusion. "I don't understand, there isn't any-"

"The last paragraph."

He had never seen Sabira like this. There were tears welling in her eyes, her expression crestfallen. His eyes gazed back down to the letter.

'Speaking of your husband, how is that little street rat that he brought in? Is he still his little messenger? I'm sure he had grown by now, given how long it has been. I've even heard word that he's even travelling in the prince's stead! Is this true my daughter? It continues to fascinate me why your husband brought a boy like him in. But no matter. I have no doubt our paths will cross again.'

It felt like his heart had stopped. His eyes met Sabira's, whose hands were shaking. "I-it only crossed my mind when I was re-reading his letters the other night," she stuttered, stepping toward him, "He had to know. Tha-that even if you weren't going to be on that trip…"

"That Jafar would be."

"Thank you."

When they had returned to the palace sent him off with some of the servants, explaining to them that he would need new clothing, a bath, and some food. He relayed this information to Jafar, who seemed nervous at first to leave his side, before agreeing. Those brown eyes didn't leave his until they had turned a corner, taking the boy and the servant girls from his sight.

While he was gone, Hamed arranged a space for the child to live in among the other messengers from the palace. He discussed with Nu'man what had happened in the market, the older guard giving him a confused look.

"And you brought him to the palace?" He asked.

"He was smart enough to fool some of your guards," Hamed argued with a smirk, "With some guidance...he could be a bright young man."

He hadn't bothered with telling his father yet, that could wait until the next day.

Which had brought them to the meal they were sharing. The amazement in the child's eyes as the food sat before him almost made him laugh, but he thought better of it. It was normal for him, someone who had access to anything his heart desired.

For Jafar and other people within the kingdom...they didn't have that privilege.

The voice had been like a whisper, so faint that Hamed almost missed it. Turning, he looked down at Jafar, who had shoved some food in his mouth.

"Did you say something Jafar?" He asked, leaning over on the table, "and slow down. I don't want you to choke on your food."

Jafar frozen in mid-chew and he couldn't help laugh at the comical image.

The boy swallowed, a blush reddening his cheeks as he pushed some of his curly locks back from his face. "Thank you...you didn't have to bring me here," his words were slow, nervous, and he only looked up at him once, "I'll do my best."

Smiling, Hamed rose from his seat and walked to the boy's side of the table. He knelt down, hand resting on his head. The blush on Jafar's cheeks only grew, unsure how to deal with the situation.

"There's no need to thank me Jafar. I know you'll do your best. And if there's anything you need," he rubbed his head affectionately, a small smile growing on Jafar's face, "I'll be there to help."

The letter fell from his grasp, sitting at his feet on the ground. Those years ago, when he found that boy on the streets, tears in his eyes, Hamed thought he would be helping him. Bringing him in, allowing Jafar to work alongside him. To have something that he could call a home, a possible better life.

But all he had done was drag him into a conflict that could cost Jafar his life.

And there was nothing he could do to save him.

* * *

Ah yes. I've been wanting to write this chapter so badly! We knew in the movie that Jafar stated that he was in a Shirabad jail for 5 years but never said how he got there. So I went with this angle. Hope you guys liked, I tried to sprinkle in some cute flashbacks and moments cause I'm pretty sure the next chapter will be super sad.

The name for Hakim's father actually comes from the name of the actor who played Hakim. Weird maybe but I liked it...so there you go!


	5. Tortured Soul

Just a warning to everyone, this one gets a little dark. For obvious reasons. There are mentions of torture, so if that makes you uncomfortable, you may want to skip it. There are also some small mentions of what the Sultan of Shirabad thinks of the prince's and Jafar's relationship that may make people uncommfortable? There's also a brief moment when someone gets on top of Jafar, but it doesn't go anywhere beyond that. If any of that bothers you in anyway, just turn away from the chapter. I totally understand. I try to keep it vague.

* * *

Darkness.

It was all he saw. No inch of light could squeeze it's way past the stoned off cell he sat in. How long he had been there, he wasn't sure. He lost track after they threw him in here. A special room, specifically designed to drive him mad.

Or kill him. Whatever came first.

Arms resting on his knees, Jafar leaned his head back against the wall. The usual sounds of the guards boots were absent today. No food or water had been brought to him. Maybe they forgot about him. It would come as no surprise.

He grinned. Everyone forgot about him eventually.

* * *

There was something wrong. He could feel it on the back of his neck as he gazed out onto the wastelands of the massive desert. Someone or something was watching them, but he couldn't pinpoint from where. He gripped the reigns on his camel tighter.

"Navid," he called to the courier in front of him, who shot him back a look, "How much longer before we are back within the kingdom's land?"

"Eager to get back so quickly?" The older man asked with a grin, "With the weather we have, I would say a few ho-"

"Ambush!"

Iago's cry rang through his ears, followed by the sound of hooves pounding the sand. His head whipped around, the approaching group gaining on them quickly. They were like sitting ducks, their camels only moving so fast. There would be no way to avoid the group.

Jumping from the camel, Iago squawking on his shoulder, Jafar held out his arm. "Iago!" The bird flew from his shoulder and onto his outstretched arm, black eyes gazing up at him. "Go back to the palace," he explained, voice urgent, "tell them what has happened. Ambush. Say it!"

"Ambush!" He repeated, his red wings unfurling.

"Go!" His threw his arm in the air, the macaw taking to the skies. The other's around him had dismounted from their camels, grabbing whatever weapons were available to them. It wouldn't matter.

Jafar's gaze turned towards the group that was only seconds away from them and gripped his own dagger. A sinking feeling came over him as he was able to make out the details of their clothing.

Shirabad soldiers.

How had they known they were going to be here? Only a few within the palace knew of the exact route they would be taking, for a situation like this. Which meant that someone had informed Shirabad's sultan. Who seemingly sent these soldiers to attack when the prince was supposed to be among them.

The small group was overwhelmed and the soldiers circled them slowly. "Where is your prince?" One of them yelled, a sick smile spreading across his face. His eyes lingered on Jafar and he glared back at him, fists clenched at his side.

"Obviously not here." His reply was short, almost a sneer.

The soldier clicked his tongue, horse stopping, and he hopped down. Slowly, he approached Jafar, pulling his dagger out of the sheath on his hip. "You think you're smart boy? Think you're funny?"

Eyeing the dagger, Jafar gazed back up at the soldier. "Just answering your question."

The dagger skimmed up his exposed neck, tip pressing into his cheek. He clenched his teeth. The soldier cut into the side of his face, a sickness shimmering in his eyes. It made Jafar's skin crawl.

The man's knee slammed into his stomach, Jafar grunting and falling forward slightly. The same knee hit him square between his eyes and he fell back, the shouts of his comrades echoing in his ears before he hit the ground and saw only darkness.

The throne room for the sultan of Shirabad was enormous. The pillars were lined with gold, details engraved on them with such precision that Jafar couldn't help but be impressed.

The layout of the room reminded him of the one in Agrabah, with stairs leading up to two massive doors. The difference being that a massive throne sat at the bottom step. The ceilings were decorated with paintings that told the story of the kingdom, people depicted cheering and the land flourishing. He remembered princess Sabira mentioning that when she described the palace to him once many years ago.

At that time, he wished he could have seen it with his own eyes.

Standing in the middle of the throne room, arms shackled behind his back, Jafar took in everything he could. Any exit he could see was covered by a guard. He had been separated from the other couriers. Which meant if he wanted to escape, he would have to find them or leave them behind. He frowned, banishing that thought from his mind.

He wouldn't leave them.

At the top of the stairs, the doors opened. A figure walk through, his robes a pristine white with red and gold lining. His eyes zeroed in on Jafar and he could feel a chill go down his spine. They were almost black, but there was a sinister glint within them. A smile stretched on his face, almost hidden by his white beard. It was almost laughable how much he reminded Jafar of Agrabah's own sultan.

"I ask for a prince and you bring me this...rat from the street?"

Jafar's eyes widen for a moment before schooling his features. Did he know? How could he know, he hadn't seen the sultan since the prince and princess' wedding. The meeting had been so fleeting, he himself almost forgot about it.

"The prince was not with them my sultan," a soldier out of his eyesight responded, "It seems that there was a last minute change to their trip."

Ths Sultan made his way down the steps, his lips pursed. "A shame. This would have gone smoother with him here," he murmured, stopping a few feet away from where Jafar stood, "We could still make it work though. What with the prince's messenger boy here."

Jafar clenched his teeth but kept silent. They had planned to use the prince as a bargaining tool? What did this man think to gain from that? It would spell out war between the two kingdoms.

"Jafar, wasn't it?"

His eyes snapped up, meeting the sultan's. His sneer had only grown, "Yes, the little rat that my darling daughter's husband brought from the streets. I thought to myself all those years ago, why bother? But looking at you now…"

Disgust rolled over him as the soldiers around them snickered. He could feel his nails digging into the palm of his hands, tearing at the skin. They were toying with him. His anger couldn't get the best of him in this situation, it would only make things worse. His expression darkened as he glared at the other man.

This only seemed to delight the sultan. "Oh you're a silent play thing aren't you? I'm sure Hamed appreciated that when he would take you to his ro-"

His feet move before he can think better of it. Charging at the sultan, his shoulder lowered, he almost made contact when he's slammed to the ground. Blood pooled in his mouth, his lip busted open, and the blade of a knife at his throat. There was shouting above him, a headache forming behind in eyes making it almost unbearable.

The collar of his tunic was yanked back, Jafar forced to sit back on his knees. Vision blurred, he had to blink a few times for everything to regain focus. His eyes were closed when he felt a hand grab his face. Hissing, the person's thumb digging into the cut on his cheek that hadn't healed, his dark eyes opened up.

The Sultan kneeled before him. "You're a feisty one. I can see why he liked you. But I think it's time rat," his grip tightened, his face inches from Jafar's, "that you remembered your place."

The days all blurred into one after that point.

They had dragged him down to the dungeons at one point, throwing him in a cell with nothing but the clothing on his back. They took his shoes, which seemed to be very humorous among the guards. He had laid on the ground, gazing up at the stone ceiling for hours.

_They'll come for you._

There were two meals a day, one cup of water provided in the morning or afternoon. He had marked the walls with lines, counting the days he could when they passed. There were days that he missed, when he was too tired from the torture that he was put through by the guards.

It was usually the same two guards who dragged him out. At first, he would try to drag his feet, resisting when he could. But that would only result in things being worse for him.

Whipping him was their favorite. Shackling his outstretched arms, they would rip into his back until he couldn't stand up anymore. And there were times they would continue on with it until his throat was raw, his screams nothing more then wheezes. He would be thrown back into his cell like a rag doll, blood leaking onto the dirt floor.

The other couriers were killed. He didn't know when or how, but there was a feeling in his gut that knew. They only kept him because of his association with the prince.

Jafar wouldn't allow himself to grow weak. When the wounds on his back would heal, he would walk around his cell, doing pushups or other exercises when the guards couldn't see. Eating the disgusting food that was provided to him, knowing he would need it to survive the day. He had lived through this for years while on the streets.

"Still no word from your beloved prince," the Sultan would taunt when he came down to the dungeon, leaning against his cell, "He's probably forgotten about you and moved onto some other boy on the streets. They are easy to find."

Rage would try to over take him in these moments, but he stood towards the back of the cell in silence. Planning the ways he would kill the sultan and these guards that mocked him. How it would feel when it was him towering over them, stepping on them like the rats they were. Until then, he just glared at them all, emotionless.

The wall ran out of room to be marked. The sultan's visits came less frequently. The two guards that would torture him for hours on end lost interest.

With each passing day, Jafar felt his faith waning. They were going to come for him, weren't they? The prince wouldn't leave him here to suffer for the rest of his life.

Would he?

One night, he was lightly dozing off when he heard the creeking of the cell door. His eyes snapped open, alert, but he felt himself being thrown to the ground. He cried out, his back not healed enough from the whipping he had suffered through a few days before. Dazed, he felt someone's body weight on top of his and he froze when the flash of a blade met his eye.

"Keep yourself quiet you rat."

The soldier from the ambush that started this mess. Jafar's eyes widened, unsure of how to react. The blade traced down the side of his face that had been cut before. It lingered on his neck before cutting through his shirt. "Even now you're a pretty little thing…" He hissed, the tip of it digging into his chest.

Jafar acted with the element of surprise. Quickly, he rolled over and switching positions with the guard, who had yelled. Grabbing the dagger, he plunged it into the guard's side where he knew there was no armour or chainmail. The man screamed, trying to pull it out, but Jafar got up and slammed his foot in his face.

The cell door had been left open. Stumbling, he ran down the hallway as quickly as his legs would take him. It was a maze within these walls. A door he had thought to be an exit turned out to be a closet. Another door lead to nothing.

He stood at a dead end, looking up a grate that had light beaming through it. The sun's warm rays tickled his skin, how long had it been since he felt it? He could hear the hustle of what he assumed was the market above and he wanted to scream. It was too high up for him to climb, nothing on the walls worth grasping at. His feet were cut up from running down the dirt floors. The wounds on his back were burning, reopened with all his sudden movements.

There was nowhere for him to go.

Eventually they found him and dragged him back to his cell. The guard he stabbed wasn't there anymore, but there was a pool of blood in his place. Jafar heard a chuckle escape his lips before he fell into a fit of laughter.

They would all end up like that guard. Bleeding on the ground, begging him for mercy. And he would stand there and watch them with the satisication of turning his back.

The guards hadn't taken kindly to him killing one of their own. The whippings had returned to an every day event, more rage with each hit. They would strip him down and any part of his body was met with the whip. His skin would be cut raw and he would be on the brink of losing consciousness when another strike would bring him back.

The guards would take a dagger and cut just enough into his chest, side or one of his quads where it slice through his skin and bleed, but not enough to kill him. It had become clock work.

"It's what a rat like you deserve." a guard had hissed at him after throwing him back into cell one night. Jafar lay there like a rag doll, his mind numb. The man's laugh echoed in his mind. **"Know your place."**

At some point, they threw him into small stone cell. It was a never ending darkness. It would allow the guards to have a second to jump him and drag him out when his eyes would attempt to adjust to the light. His resisted had died days, months...years ago?

How long had it been?

Jafar rested his head on his knees, curled up against the wall. Blood oozed down the side of his face, a cut on his cheek had reopened when one of the guards backhanded him. The impact of the man's rings ripped into his skin.

He rubbed at the finger that had his own ring on it at one point in time. How he missed it. It was one of the things he could call his own. It was special to him, he had picked out that specific one because it reminded him of the prince's. When he had shown Hamed, the older man had been delighted. His smile brought Jafar a wave of happiness, returning the smile with one of his own.

Things had been simpler then.

_He was never going to come for a street rat like you._ A voice mocked in the back of his mind. _How could you fool yourself?_

"No…" he mumbled, biting his lip, "He wouldn't...leave me like this."

_Why not?_ The voice asked in a mocking tone. _You're nothing to them. Just a boy off the streets that worked at the palace. You were nothing to him._

"You're wrong." He growled, gripping his arms tightly, "Baba...he cares."

_"Baba"?_ The voice laughed, a sneer in it's tone. _Are you some small child now? Look at how far you have fallen. If you're "baba" cares so much for you, then why hasn't he saved you?_ It asked. _If it was little Jasmine or Princess Sabira, he would move heaven and earth to save them. But you?_

Jafar felt his lip tremble and he bit into it, causing blood to trickle down. The voice was wrong. Baba would come. Take him from this place and back to the palace. Baba said he would be there for him. Why would he lie?

_He just pitied you. You mean nothing to him._

Shaking, Jafar felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. His hid his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, unable to control the wave of realization coming over him.

Prince Hamed wasn't coming. No one was coming.

Jafar would be left here in the darkness to die. Forgotten.

Like he always was.

The worst dreams were the ones that would bring him the smallest glimmer of hope. Of the prince coming through the door and saving him, taking him back to the palace. Rescuing him before all the scars and the pain.

It was a fantasy. He knew it was, but in those moments it felt good. The warmth of his last hope.

But as he would think about it more, anger would consume him. They had left him here to rot, to die. To suffer through the lashings, of his skin being reopened again and again until it felt like his nerves were on fire. For his throat to be so raw from screaming that he could taste the blood in his mouth at night. Or the cut of a dagger sinking into his skin, leaving him with too many scars to count.

They probably mocked him back at court. All those idotic delegates who stared at him as he walked with the prince, whispering among themselves. The guards who scoffed at him when he asked to be trained to become a palace guard. "Run back to your library little boy." They said, patting him on the shoulder and pushing him away. The servant girls who would laugh at him when his back was turned.

Sabira, who thought she knew so much about him. He could see it now when he thought back to it, the mocking nature in her eyes. Like her father's sneer. There was no hiding her true nature. She most likely mocked him while talking to Hamed, while he was out of the room.

They didn't have the nerve to do it to his face.

The anger he had buried deep within himself began to grow more and more with each passing day. Everyone had turned against him. He had put his heart out to the world and it had taken it and thrown it to the ground, shattering it. Leaving him with nothing.

Nothing but his anger. His vengeance. His need for power.

He would have it all. All those that mocked him would rue the day that they did. Because he would crush them for underestimating him. For thinking he was nothing more then some rat from the streets.

He would prove them all wrong.

It was the only thing keeping him going.

* * *

Footsteps were coming down the hall. Jafar's head had been leaned back, unruly curly hair bouncing in front of his eyes. The footfalls were unfamiliar to him. There was a certain heaviness that came with most of the guards within the palace, based of the boots that they wore.

This was different.

The steps stopped in front of his door and he heard the jingle of keys. There must be a new guard on duty, which would explain the lateness of their daily visit.

A number of keys were tried from what it sounded like. Jafar leaned back, unsure why the process would be taking so long. Finally, the key clicked. The deadbolts were pulled.

The door opened slowly and Jafar squinted his eyes, blinded by the sudden light brought into the small space. He rubbed his eyes, looking down and allowing them to adjust. Waiting for the guard to grab his arm and drag him from the cell.

Nothing happened. Confused, Jafar looked up at the person in the doorway. It was hard to see, his eyes not completely adjusted to the light. The man was tall, a turban sitting on his head. Which was odd. The Shirabad guards didn't wear those down here.

"Oh my…" the figured trailed off, turning his head away from him. "Quickly, down here!"  
The loud voice made him jump. He sat back, picking at his ragged pants leg, and squinted up at the man in the doorway. His profile seemed familiar. But he couldn't place it. The clothing was familiar as well, the golden plate sitting on the man's chest with chainmail surrounding it.

"My sultan, maybe you should…" The man's voice trailed off when another figure joined him in the doorway.

Jafar felt himself freeze. It couldn't be real. This was all some sort of dream, he would wake up any minute now. Back to the darkness where his hopes had died so long ago.

Prince Hamed stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "Jafar…?"

His mouth felt dry. He sat there in silence, unsure of what to say. If this was even real. Because if it wasn't and he allowed himself to fall for such a cruel trick...it would destroy him.

It needed to be real, it had to be real.

Hamed took a few steps toward him before the other man had grabbed his arm. "My sultan…"

"Hakim. It's alright."

Jafar's eyes widened. Hakim was here? This couldn't be real, it would be too good. It was all too good, it had to be a dream. A cruel dream.

Hamed knelt down in front of him, tears welling up in his eyes. There were small differences that Jafar noticed. There were wrinkles under his eyes, along with some noticeable bags. His beard, which had been a deep brown when they last saw each other, was peppered with grey streaks and specks. His clothing as well was different, heavier from what he remembered. Like his father's.

"Jafar?"

His voice, how long it had been since he heard it. When was the last time someone had said his name aloud?

A hand was held out for him and Jafar noticed the ring on one of the fingers, the red jewel that adorned it. The ring that was meant for the Sultan of Agrabah.

His eyes widened, his gaze meeting the former prince's. The same kind eyes from all those years ago in the market. The eyes which had brought him in and taught him, cared for him. That he longed to see one more time.

"Hamed…" He licked his cracked lips. It was almost too good to be true. "Is this…"

As if reading his mind, the former prince let out a watery laugh. He nodded, "This is very real Jafar."

His hand reached out and grasped Hamed's. The grip was weak, but he squeezed with as much strength as he could. A smile broke out on the other man's face.

Slowly, Jafar stood up. Hamed had stepped closer, guiding him up carefully. His legs were weak, shaking from their lack of use. The room wasn't big enough to pace like he had done while in the other cell.

Hamed grasped both of his arms, staring up at him. With care, he wrapped his arms around Jafar, who's head rested on his shoulder. His embrace was so warm, a feeling he hadn't felt in years. Jafar's hands grabbed at the back of Hamed's robes. He felt them shaking and realized that his whole body was. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and he couldn't control it, pressing his face into the older man's shoulder.

"I'm sorry I took so long…" Hamed voice whispered in his ear, cracking at the end of his sentence.

"I'm so sorry Jafar."

It was just the two of them in that moment, clinging to each other. It was everything that he had dreamed about. There would be no more cell. No more whips, no more daggers to pierce him. He would go back to Agrabah, with his prince, a free man.

The little bit of faith that he clung to had come through.

But the anger that had festered would become too powerful to ignore.

* * *

Well. That got dark. I told y'all it would happen. This is where Jafar will start to change, that anger he's been trying to hold back for so long won't be ignored anymore. But you know Jafar, he's just good at hiding it from everyone. Also, the country of Shirabad I'm sure is a delighful place, it's just the Sultan who's a big ol' dick. Like the former Sultan of Agrabah, but we've moved past them.

Baba - Papa (in Arabic) I used this because Marwan had mentioned in an interview with EW that Jafar obviously looked up and respected the Sultan. "Baba", from my understanding, can also be used for an elder or respectful term of endearment. Jafar mockingly says it to him in the movie, after he's become the most powerful sorcerer, but I could see him using the term when he was a small child when thinking of Hamed. But never to Hamed's face, just to himself.


	6. A Snake within Darkness

Books sat scattered on the ground of the room. Tattered pages marked in different spots, notes written within the sentences. In the window alcove, Jafar sat with a book in his lap, his one leg crossed over the other. His eyes skimmed the lines, the quill in his hand underlining a sentence that he came upon.

In the time he had returned to Agrabah, he had moved up into the high council. The first few months of his return had been resting, learning what had transpired while he was captured. The two sultan's had battled, trying to prove which kingdom was the strongest between the two. There were battles, men on both sides lost. Hakim had explained to him that at one point, Hamed had enough. He had confronted his father, arguing before he had to be dragged away from the elder man.

In a short time, the sultan of Agrabah passed away. Along with the sultan of Shirabad. Jafar found it to be too much of a coincidence. He had brought it up with Hakim who held his stare for a long, silent moment. "It is funny how fate allows these things to happen."

Jafar had been rescued when Hamed had come to sign the treaty that was once again in effect between the two kingdoms. Brought back to Agrabah, his body healed. But his mind raced. There were nights where he would wake up, biting his fist to muffle his screams.

Resting couldn't heal the anger in his soul.

As he did when he first arrived at the palace, Jafar spent his time with books. He would sit in the library for hours, learning anything he could relating to the kingdom. He would review the daily reports that would be provided to the sultan, learning the day to day of the land. What needed to be improved, how the funds were spent, what kingdoms they were in contact with.

It allowed him to get the upper hand. Thought he was already by Hamed's side, Jafar strove to prove himself among the others on the council. He would sit back, listening to the back and forth between the members, arguing over who's proposal would be best for the kingdom. Hamed sat there, the picture of the perfect sultan, but he would catch the older man's shoulder slumping or a tired sigh escaping him from time to time.

The fools didn't understand the power that they had, what could be achieved with just a few words. Their petty squabbling would mean nothing. If they couldn't hold the interest of the sultan, what use were they?

"You didn't participate too much in today's meeting Jafar." Hamed noted one night as they sat together. They were within the gardens, a table separating them. His eyes met the older man's, a small bit of amusement shining in them.

"There didn't seem much time to get in a word between the other members." He snorted, taking a sip of his tea. He turned the glass in his hand, shaking his head, "As much as I enjoy listening to them discuss for the hundredth time where the new statue should be in the city…"

Hamed nodded, a small smile on his face as he chuckled, "It can be tiring, especially regarding something so trivial. But you always have a good point to provide."

The grip he had on his glass tightened. His expression didn't flinch, his gaze lingering on the sultan. It was so easy for him to say. Hamed didn't hear the whispers of mockery that Jafar heard after meetings, the lingering gazes the other's shot at him when his back was turned.

'_He pities that boy, that's why he sits with us.'_

'_The sultan will allow anyone to sit amongst us, even some dirty little…'_

Jafar sat back in his chair, eyes lingering on the full moon above them. "If there is a point I have to add," a crooked smile had spread across his lips, "have no doubt that I will make it."

It was why he sat in this window alcove, reading over one of the many books he had found within the deepest parts of the kingdom's marketplace. Sorcery within the kingdom was taboo, a subject that was spoken with hushed whispers among the people. It was something he had taken notice of when he was on the streets, wandering through different parts of the city. Tales of caves of gold, mystic powers unlike anyone had ever seen. Beings with the power to grant anything the heart wished.

The latter seemed a bit far fetched to the young man.

The book on his lap was one he found in one of the poorer parts of the city. It had been simple for him to sneak out one night under the cover of darkness, his old thieving skills coming back to him with ease. The cloak he wore disguised him, along with the beard that he was allowing to grow in. Many of the citizens didn't recognize him, being away from the public eye for so long.

The older man who provided him with the books warned him of the dangers. "I've seen many a man fall prey to the powers whispers…" He mumbled.

Bowing his head, a smile graced Jafar's lips, "I'll keep that in mind."

Every page he turned intrigued him more. The potions, amulets, spells, there were hundreds of different ways these things could be used. They could provide advantages over any other kingdom that would ever try to come up against them. Allow them to become more powerful, so that they would fear the kingdom of Agrabah.

They would fear him.

A section that caught his eye was the idea of persuading a person with a simple command. A spell needed to be cast over an object, which would in turn provide the user with the power to bring a person into their control. If he were to use such power, the object in question needed to not cause suspicion. Easy enough to have with him at all times.

His eyes shot up to the staff that leaned in the corner of his room. The snake staff had been an item of his own creation. The sultan had suggested it to him as he recovered, arguing that his legs would need assistance to build their strength. "It would just be for a short time. Then, you can do whatever you want with it." Hamed had explained, his voice calm as he sat with Jafar. At the time, the idea infuriated him. Was he that weak that he needed help to walk?

The staff would have its use. The trickiest part was trying to figure out when to attempt the spell.

A knock at his door made him jump, slamming the book shut in his hands. "One moment!" He called, gathering the books and scraps of parchment and stuffing them under his bed. Where was that blasted bird to alert him of someone coming toward his room?

Smoothing out the sheets and his own clothing, he strode over to the door and opened it. Hakim stood a few feet from the doorway, nodding to him. "Did I interrupt?" He asked, eyeing the younger man's hand.

Jafar frowned, looking down and noticed the black smudges. His notes must have not dried in time. "No, I must have accidentally swiped my hand over the parchment I was writing on," he explained with a wave, attempting to wipe it away with his sleeve, "Is there something you need Hakim?"

"I can't just come say hello?" His eyebrow rose, his tone playful but stern.

Jafar laughed, leaning up against the doorway, "I would believe it, but you seem to be on duty."

"True," Hakim shrugged, "But yes, ths sultan wishes for you to join him and the queen for supper tonight."

He stilled, the smile on his face slowly falling. The queen. Sabria. Her voice made his skin crawl, her once warm eyes like ice to him now. If there was a chance to avoid her, he took the opportunity. And when he couldn't, the hatred within him made him itch. It had been her father who took him, her nation that kept him trapped. If Agrabah had never been involved with Shirabad, the war wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't have lost five years of his life.

There wouldn't be the nightmares that kept him up at night. The trembling in his hands when a memory would crash into his mind, losing himself before he calmed his racing heart. It was a hell he continued to live and it always came back to Shirabad. To the sultan.

To Sabira.

"I...don't know if I can," he answered, "There are reports I was catching up o-"

"It's more than a request," Hakim interrupted.

Jafar's jaw tensed, frowning. "A command?"

The older man shrugged, shaking his head, "A bit in between. He had a feeling you may try and refuse," he stopped, his gaze catching Jafar's, "though I'm unsure as to why."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jafar pursed his lips. "I'm used to taking supper alone, allows me...to unwind from the day." Which was true, in a sense. The days within the palace could be chaotic and most nights were the only times he had to himself. It was an escape for a few hours.

Hakim's gaze was sharp, watching him. He continued to be an impossible man for Jafar to read. His schooled features made him the perfect example of a palace guard. But trying to gather information from him through conversation was another challenge.

"Nonetheless, the sultan has requested your presence. I would advise not avoiding it." He reiterated, smiling at Jafar's furrowed brows. "Unless you want me to pay you another visit?"

"Your visits are always appreciated Hakim."

"I believe you're one of the few that think that." He hummed, Jafar chuckling at the answer. Hakim was one of the few people in the palace that he had any tolerance for. A few moments with the high council members or delegates who worked with the sultan irritated him. Their view was small, ambitions weak. It disgusted him how they would willingly stay in the same place when they could so easily move up the ladder, what privilege they had. Everything was handed to them on a silver platter. The fact they did nothing with it enraged him.

Jafar knew Hakim wasn't like them. He watched him work with his father when he arrived at the palace, the endless hours that he was on duty. A man of true loyalty. Someone who understood the workings of the kingdom, though smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself until they were needed. Smart men like that were hard to find within the walls.

"Jafar." Hakim's stern voice broke him from his thoughts. His eyes were watchful, with a hint of concern. Uncommon for the stoic man. "Have you been sleeping?"

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His eyes widened briefly before he forced out a laugh. "Of course. What would make you think I haven't?"

Their eyes were locked. Hakim's gaze was hard, thick brows furrowed. "A few of the guards had made mention of seeing you wandering around the halls late at night," he remarked, "And you seem more tired as of late."

"I appreciate the concern, but I am fine." The smile on Jafar's face was strained. He had been slipping. If the guards had noticed his late night walks, what else had they seen? "Up late reading over reports and proposals. And the walks are for some fresh air, it can become a bit stuffy in this room at night."

A moment passed before the guard nodded, accepting the answer. "Of course. But…" He trailed off, contemplating his next words. "If you do find yourself having trouble, I'm usually awake. It gets dull during the late nights."

Jafar's brows rose at the offer. A piece of information to tuck away for a later date. "I'll keep it in mind. Maybe we can discuss how to use the guards around the market and seaport?"

"Absolutely. Those areas have become a little overrun as of late." Hakim conceded with a scoff. "I must go. Do make time for supper tonight."

Jafar smirked, half bowing to him. "As my sultan commands."

Shaking his head, Hakim turned and walked down the hallway. Jafar watched until his body disappeared around the corner and pinched the bridge of his nose. Supper was the opposite of what he wanted to be wasting his time on. He closed the door, grabbing the books and parchments he had hidden before. His eyes skimmed over the list of things he needed for the spell. Delaying gathering the items brought a tinge of annoyance to him. But Hakim's visit hadn't be completely useless. He would have to be more careful when wandering the palace at night, forming better excuses as to why he would be out so late.

"Master!"

The screech made Jafar cringe, turning towards the source. Iago had settled on the windowsill, his head turning any direction. The little black eyes stared at him and he groaned with annoyance.

"Blasted bird...your timing is perfect as always." He mumbled, gathering feed in his hand and sitting on the alcove's edge. Iago's beak dove into the food, his owner's eyes rolling. "Did you see anything in the market today?"

"Sultan in the market! Family outing!"

"Yes I know the family went out into the market," he grumbled, wiping his hand after Iago licked it clean, "They do it every week. Anything else?"

"Thieves in the seaport!"

"So nothing new then." He rose from the alcove, hands resting on the top of his desk. Small thieves in the seaport or the market meant nothing to him. They were harmless for the most part.

The spell would have to wait. He couldn't avoid the supper with the sultan and the queen, as much as he wished to. If they had mercy on him, the event would be short. His gaze lingered on the staff, the gold glittering with the reflection of the sulight. The red crystals that were embedded in the eyes shined.

"Only a matter of time…"

* * *

The supper was testing every nerve in his body. In his mind, he was screaming to be freed from the space. To go back to his room and huddle over his notes, his books, and experimenting the spells he had been studying. On the outside he was calm, the smile on his face strained to the point his cheeks hurt. All to entertain Hamed and his queen.

They sat on the balcony of the royal couple's chambers, candles flickering around to provide light to the darkness that had settled in. The plates of food had been shuffled away and the trio sat with each other at the table, talking. Though most of the conversation was carried by the sultan and his wife. Jafar leaned back in his chair, his turban set aside, a wine glass in his hand. There wasn't much he could contribute into a conversation about their beloved daughter.

"I'm not trying to be strict with her Sabira, but she needs to be more careful," Hamed argued, sipping his own glass, "She almost got run over by a cart today."

"I'm just...advising you that yelling at her right after it happened may not have been the best approach." Sabira conceded with a sigh, a small smile tugging on her lips, "Try to be calm and then, if she doesn't listen, you can...proclaim your statements with a louder tone."

Jafar's fingered tapped lightly on the glass, biting his tongue. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. She even had the same infliction and pauses as her father.

"What do you think Jafar?"

The young man's gaze flickered between the couple. He didn't really have an opinion regarding how to manage their child. "I would assume that being stern would provide the message you wish to send. But, I don't have experience in that realm myself."

Hamed nodded, waving his cup in his young advisor's direction, "I agree. There should be boundaries set up for her now, to keep her safe until she knows better."

Sabira took a sip of her wine, rolling her eyes in what Jafar assumed was a playful manner. It seemed more disrespectful to him. She should listen to Hamed more. What right did she have to argue his point?

"Boundaries are a good thing, but let's not trap her in this space. World experience is good, I'm sure you can agree?" Her eyes landed on Jafar, smiling. "Being able to visit other kingdoms has provided you with good experience Jafar, look at where you are today."

His grip on his glass tightened. The smile on his face grew, nodding to the queen. "Of course. It has...been invaluable." He set his cup down with more force then needed. An escape was needed before he came undone. Her presence only disgusted, made the scars on his body pulse. "Thank you for inviting me tonight. But I must retire for the evening, there were still some items I need to review before tomorrow's meeting. You understand my sultan?"

Hamed's face crumpled slightly at the suggestion. "So soon Jafar?"

"I apologize, but yes. We could meet together before tomorrow's council?"

A sadness crossed his gaze that Jafar stilled at. His mind begged for the man not to make him stay here. The escape he needed was just beyond their chamber doors. He could feel the queen's eyes on him and it took every nerve in his body to not turn and scream at her.

With a sigh, Hamed nodded. "That would be fine. Thank you for joining us tonight."

Relief washed over him. Grabbing his turban, he bowed to the couple. "Thank you for inviting me. I will see you in the morning."

It felt as if he flew from their chambers. Calmly, but quickly, he walked down the hall. He nodded as he passed by the guards that lingered in the doorways. To the untrained eye, the palace was like a maze. But his feet had memorized every hall, every door that was within the walls. Turning down a darkened hallway, Jafar's eyes scanned the area before he opened a heavy set door. It was littered with locks and different cobwebs. Tightly closing it behind him, he rushed down the spiraling staircase.

His feet met with the dirt floor of the low lit room. Empty jail cells lined the walls of the dungeon, the unused shackles and chains lingering on the ground. Pacing back and forth furiously, he bit into his hand and let out a muffled scream. His heart pounded in his chest.

That woman. She was the cause of his problems, with everything. He could see her bending the sultan to her whims, persuading him into situations he wanted to treat differently. It was just what that awful country wanted. Their father's ambition was still there, he could see it in her eyes.

Hamed was becoming too weak. Soon he would be spineless and just a puppet for Sabira's will. It wouldn't stop there. Jasmine had her way any time she could and she would continue the tradition brought from her mother. Disgust rolled over him. He wouldn't allow that to happen, the kingdom wouldn't fall. Others believed they could mettle in the Agrabah's affairs but they were mistaken.

He would make them one of the most feared kingdoms in the land.

His eyes gazed around the room, a crooked smile spreading across his face. No one but him used these old dungeons. There were abandoned. A perfect spot for him to experiment. With haste he would gather the items he needed to cast the spell on his staff and control the power the book promised him. Once that was complete, he would move up within the hierarchy of the high council. The position of the grand vizier would be his.

But first he would plan how to kill the queen without those fools every knowing it was him.

* * *

Author's Note: Our boy is going down that path of no return and he's couldn't be happier. Thinks he can fix all his problems but we know how that works out for him in the end. And I had to stop myself from writing more of the two of them cause...I love them, I don't know how it happened. I mean I blame Jafar, he was so hung up on Hakim. Same dude, I love Hakim too haha. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed!


	7. Know Your Place

Patience and practice. These were things that Jafar had instilled in himself at a young age living on the streets. Weaving through the marketplace, knowing the best escape routes, what stalls were the easiest to steal from, gathering all that information required patience. An understanding of when the right time would be to strike and flee into the sea of people like a ghost. Patience for waiting on that right moment would be the line between getting caught or making it home with food that could last for days.

Practice allowed for the movements to come with ease, the simple flick of the wrist and the item in question could be snuck into his sleeve, moving through the crowd before the merchant could even were late nights when he would stay up, when the crowds disappeared, and he would move through the cities alleys, memorizing each one. Jumping over walls, allowing his legs to become used to the impact of the dirt surface he was landing on. It all had become second nature because it had to be.

These were the qualities that had pushed him to be in the position he was in now. Second only to the sultan, the Grand Vizier of Agrabah.

But even his practiced patience could run thin.

At first, he had gone out to the dunes himself to look for this "Cave of Wonders" that his books spoke so highly about. A place with more gold and jewelry beyond anyone's wildest dreams. But these were not the items that were the most sought out within the cave. The text described an oil lamp that was the true treasure. Trapped within that lamp was a genie with the power to grant three wishes of the masters' desire.

Reading it sounded like a folk tale, a story parents told their young children before sending them off to bed for the night. Yet the accounts within the book were detailed, as if the author had planted the lamp within the caves walls themselves. It peaked his curiosity each time he read over the text. There was a phrase that caught his eye numerous times.

_The diamond in the rough._

The concept intrigued him. Only certain people could enter this cave, which made the need for the lamp to grow. Whether or not it was a genie that resided in that lamp, there was something that made it incredibly valuable to have that type of protection.

Any night that he could, Jafar would escape from the palace. Under darkness, he ventured out to attempt to spot where this cave could be. But after the first week, he realized he could not go out as far as he wished. The sultan and other would question where he was if he wasn't at the constant meetings they had planned.

When he was stuck in those meetings, Iago would be sent out. He was Jafar's eyes and ears when he was sequestered to those rooms each day, trying not to fall asleep when another proposal would come up regarding how to rebuild certain sections of the seaport. Each time he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, he was already pulled aside by Hamed at one point when one of the councilmen complained.

Iago would report back to him when he returned to his study, which was at one of the highest points in the palace. The parrot mentioned some odd rock formations miles from the city limits, but nothing matching the description of the lions head. Jafar would frown as he fed Iago, looking over the massive map he had on his desk. It could take him years to find the cave. Years he didn't wish to wait.

There were other matters taking up his time. It had taken much practice, but he had perfected his spell of manipulation. Hours spent down in those damp dungeons, testing it on criminals who would be passing through. The power that coursed through him each time he used it was electrifying. Unlike anything he had felt before.

The plan to murder of the queen had been set. It would happen during her weekly walks through the marketplace as she greeted the people who adored her. Iago had watched her, tracing every step of her route, how many guards she had with her, and reported it back to him.

Their relationship had a rocky start, but the red parrot had become an ally that Jafar desperately needed.

There would be no trace of the incident reaching back to him. It would look like a simple attack, disgruntled travellers from another land who wished to send a message to the sultan. In reality, they were petty prisoners that he had manipulated. They would either be killed by the guards who would be too late to protect the queen or he would pass judgement on them. The perpetrators would be dealt with and no one would be the wiser that the plan began within the palace walls.

Hamed would be distraught. He would rely on Jafar more then ever in his time of need. The thought of that additional power thrilled him. Even at the highest seat he could reach, power was what he craved. Which was why he was desperate to find the lamp.

Even though he had been able to rise through the ranks, there was no way for Jafar to become sultan. The council would forbid it, the laws written in such a way that it decreed only a member of the royal family could become the next leader. It infuriated him. He, who had studied the lands, travelled to other kingdoms, ruled over certain aspects of the kingdom, would never have the chance. He was not born into that privilege. No matter what he did, they would still look down at him.

With those three wishes, he could make himself sultan. Hamed had become weak in his age. He sought for peace at any chance he could when he could have had immense power at his fingertips. It was something that had rubbed off from Sabira. Which was a reason she needed to disappear.

Jafar sat back in the chair he was resting on, his eyes scanning over a letter Hamed had passed to him. It was a declaration from one of the new kingdoms up north. They boasted about their lands and the materials they could bring with them if they were given passage to visit. There were multiple mentions of the king of the land coming with his son, a prince that sounded to be right around the age as Jasmine.

It was easy to read between the lines.

"It sounds intriguing." Jafar shrugged, placing the parchment on the desk. "It never hurts to have another ally in a different region. But…"

Hamed raised an eyebrow, waving his hand for Jafar to continue. "Something you noticed?"

"It's very obvious that they wish to try and court the princess."

Jasmine. The loathsome girl has become another pain in his side. She had become the spitting image of her mother, personality and all. Whenever he dined with the royal family, they mostly glared at one another when Hamed or Sabira weren't looking. Gone were the days when she would tag along with him around the palace, peppering him with more questions then he knew how to answer. Now, she questioned everything he did. Even the simplest commands. In her mind, he assumed, it was playful. There was always a small smile on her lips when she opposed him, as if it was some sort of game. But to him, it was a sign of disrespect.

Jafar would have loved nothing more for her to be married off to some faraway kingdom where he wouldn't have to bother with her again.

That wouldn't be the case. As the only child of the royal family, whomever Jasmine married would become the sultan of Agrabah. An idea that angered him more. An outsider ruling a land they knew nothing about? How would someone like that be more qualified then him?

The entire situation had him losing out in the end.

Hamed sat back in his chair and sighed, reading over the letter again. "She hasn't even come of age yet. There's still some time before she has to go through this process…"

"It would still be a good idea to meet with this king," Jafar advised, "They could bring resources with them that we could use here."

The sultan hummed in agreement, setting the parchment down. His fingertip tapped the red ring that rest on his other hand. "That is true, but don't we still have a number of other delegates coming from Zeidan and Shirabad coming in the next few weeks?" He asked with a tired sigh. "I don't know if the palace would be prepared for a visit like that."

"We could tell them that a visit would be a great honor but ask that they delay for a few months?" The delay would allow Jafar to gather information regarding the other kingdom.

"I think that would be acceptable, don't you?" Hamed questioned. "It would give us time to prepare. As well as discuss with Jasmine how this process will go."

"You haven't discussed it?" Jafar quired, brows slightly raised.

The sultan laughed lightly, shaking his head. "I have attempted to discuss it. But she always seems to find something else to do. It's a...tiring process."

The whole idea of it made Jafar's skin crawl. There were many rituals that the royal family had to abide by that made him roll his eyes. It all seemed like noise to him. When he became sultan, those things would change.

"I remember we had to be visited at least by...ten different kingdoms before I met Sabira." Hamed continued, a small smile on his lips. "Lucky for me because I was getting tired of the whole show."

"Well, let us hope that the princess doesn't have the same issue." Jafaer stated, grabbing a report from the desk. "Regarding the mee-"

"Have you found someone for yourself Jafar?"

The young man's brow furrowed, looking up at the sultan. There was a glint of playfulness in them, the smile growing on his face. "Don't look at me like that, you must have thought of it."

"I…" his voice trailed off, his nails cutting into the parchment. It was the furthest thing from his mind. "No. There is too much to do to have time to think like that."

"You have to find time for yourself Jafar, you're always working," Hamed shook his head, "You are a handsome young man. Surely you can find someone to be with you."

He pursed his lips, averting his eyes back to the parchment in his hand. This wasn't exactly the conversation he was looking to have. "Well, it has yet to happen. When I find some free time perhaps."

Hamed watched his vizier, tempted to continue the conversation, but thought better of it. Whenever he did, Jafar would shut down and try his best to escape his presence. The subject, for a reason he couldn't understand, seemed to trouble the young mn.

"Hopefully you find that time." He conceded, reading over a report that had been provided to him by one of the palaces many couriers.

Jafar sighed inwardly. An unwanted conversation averted.

Reading over the report, a sentence caught his eye. It regarded the borders of the kingdom. It seemed as if a group had been lingering out there for a few weeks. The courier advised that they didn't see any suspicious behavior and didn't know where exactly this group was from. But it had them on edge enough to include it. It unsettled him as well.

Unwanted people at their borders could bring trouble. In his mind, it was best to take care of the matter before it could get worse.

"My sultan, look at this report." Jafar advised, handing the parchment over to the older man. Hamed read over the report quickly, looking up at him.

"The group at the border?"  
"Yes. I think it's best we take care of them now before anything happens." Jafar proposed, tapping the desk to emphasize his point. "We don't know where they are from or what they are doing."

"And that is good enough reason to attack them?" Hamed wondered, shaking his head. "That seems like too much Jafar, why don't we send someone on duty to ask them of their business?"

Jafar frowned, undeterred from his position. "What if they have weapons and attack this unsuspecting guard?"

"What if they are just travellers who don't realize they are sitting at our border?" Hamed challenged, his brow furrowed. The sultan didn't mind when Jafar countered his ideas, it allowed for a good back and forth between the two. But this seemed like a step to far.

"What if they are spies? Gathering information to possibly attack?" The young man countered, his brown eyes darkening with his fury. The sultan was too blinded by his kindness to see the potential threat. "It is best that we attack or at least get them to move."

"Your insistence of violence isn't helping your case Jafar."

"You insistence on letting them sit there shows to neighboring kingdoms that we have become spin-!"

Hamed's hand slammed down on the desk, Jafar jumping back in his seat. A tension filled silence hung in the air, the sultan's sharp gaze on his vizier. Jafar was beginning to sound too much like his father.

"Remember yourself Jafar." His voice was harsh, trying to hold back the anger that rolled through him. "Remember your place. You are my vizier and I will take your words into consideration. But don't think you may overstep."

His hands, buried in his sleeves, trembled. Heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't hear the sultan's voice. He was back in the cellar, his chin firmly in the grip of Shirbad's sultan, the man looking down at him with a sneer. "Remember your place...rat."

The words echoed in his mind. Controlling himself, his hands gripped tightly together, Jafar looked up at Hamed. There was a wetness around his eyes that he held back, schooling his features as best as he could. "Forgive me, my sultan. I apologize...it has been a long day." He conceded, standing swiftly from his chair. "I will excuse myself."

The young man quickly turned his back, gathering his staff in his hand. It took everything in his power to not allow it to shake.

"Jafar."

He stilled, biting his lip. His head turned slightly, enough to acknowledge the sultan. He could picture the frustration on the man's face. "I will see you before the meeting tomorrow?" Hamed's voice was still sharp, though touched with his normal softness.

"Of course. Goodnight."

Hamed watched Jafar rush from the room and leaned back in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. What was he going to do with him?

* * *

The servants scurried out of his way, knowing better than to bother him when he was in one of his moods. His jaw tense, teeth gritted together, Jafar was steps away from ripping everything in his study.

"Jafar?"

Hand resting on the door to his study, he cursed himself. Now, of all times? When he wanted to escape to his room and scream until his heart was content? Life laughed at him in such simple ways. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself.

Speaking with Hakim wouldn't take too much time.

Turning, his gaze was met with concerned expression. It was unlike Hakim, which put Jafar on edge. "Hakim...what is it that you need?"

The older man frowned, confusion flashing briefly in his gaze. "I thought we had agreed to meet about the seaport tonight."

Damn him. How had he forgotten that? The meeting with Hamed went longer then it should have and with everything that transpired at the end…

"Yes...I'm sorry Hakim, it must have slipped my mind. My meeting with the sultan…"

He waved him off, "It is fine. The sultan comes first. Another time?"

Jafar thought he would snap his staff in half if he held it any tighter. He nodded. "Of course. We can discuss it tomorrow?"

Hakim's eyes bore into him, an eyebrow raised slightly. "Did you get into another argument with the sultan?"

Jafar flushed, glaring at him. "W-why would that matter?" He stammered, cursing himself again.

"You seem agitated." Hakim replied cooley. "You and the sultan show the same tells when you disagree with one another." The older man stepped closer to him, Jafar almost pressing himself up against the door. He'd never been this close before. "I'm off duty if you wanted to talk about it?"

His emotions were going in a hundred different directions. This was all happening in a short amount of time, he couldn't have these many distractions before the plan tomorrow. But Hakim was standing so close, he could just reach out and…

No. Focus. There was more at stake here then some...silly crush. "You don't know how much I would enjoy that. But I have some matters to look over for tomorrow's meeting." He explained, Hakim's shoulders slumping slightly. But the man's face never gave him away. "Another time perhaps? When I find myself in a better mood…"

Stepping back slightly, Hakim scoffed. "A better mood for you? I always seem to catch you during a bad one."

"That's because it's mostly after meetings, you'd be in them too if you had to suffer through them." He countered, earning a laugh from the other man.

"True. Well...I'll leave you then, we can discuss the meeting tomorrow?"

"Of course."

Hakim looked him over for a moment before turning away, walking down the hall. Jafar watched him, his heart pounding. That had been too close. His face flushed, he took one last glance at the palace guard before rushing into his study, slamming the door shut and locking it.

The composure that he held onto for so long disappeared as soon as he made it through the doors.

Iago sat perched on the windowsill, watching his master storm into the study. He leaned his staff against one of the walls and ripped the turban off his head, throwing it across the room with a yell.

"'Remember you place Jafar'?!" He muttered angrily, pacing around the room. "I've never forgotten my place, the idiots here never let me forget! He's mocking me...that old, senile fool is mocking me! How dare he!"

Frustrated tears form at the corner of his eyes. It was Hamed who brought him here and for what? For pity? He felt bad for the lowly street rat that needed saving from one of his palace guards? Jafar was only a pet to him. The man didn't care for him, he saw him as everyone else did.

He pressed his back up against the wall, face in his hands, and let out a scream. There was a wetness on his face but he paid it no mind. All they did was mock him. Berate him. Tell him that he was nothing.

That phrase was burned into his soul. It haunted him for years, every time he was whipped, any time he closed his eyes. It mocked him. And now? For a man he had admired to use it against him? It pained him. It enraged him. Hamed hadn't suffered through half of the things he had, hadn't worked nearly as hard as he did. And through a royal bloodline, he was sultan?

The privilege would always have the advantage.

He would crush them. The fools in this palace, in any kingdom, would know to fear him. To cower before him and the power he held.

Slowly, a smile crept onto his face. He chuckled, shaking his head and walking across the room toward his books. The story of the cave was open and he leaned over it, laughing darkly. Iago flew from his place by the window and landed on the desk, looking up at his master.

"Plan?" He cawed, ruffling his feathers.

"Oh yes Iago," Jafar hissed, his hand gliding over the words of the book, "Tomorrow the queen will die. And the sultan will be so distraught, he'll have no choice but to give me more power over the kingdom. And then!" He exclaimed, a crazed desire in his eyes. "Then I will find the lamp! And once I have the lamp, that fool will know to 'remember his place' as I become sultan! I will take everything from him!" Slamming his hand on the table, surprising Iago, Jafar turned his gaze to the view of the city.

The candles in many of the windows of the buildings flickered. The people out in the streets, chattering amongst themselves. They had become too comfortable with peace. Like their sultan, they had become spineless. But he would show them. They would fear him.

A sinister smile stretched across his face."They will all rue the day they mocked me, as I make them bow before me."

* * *

The morning meetings dragged on. Every moment, Jafar's eyes would flicker to the doorway, looking for a guard to interrupt. There was no specific time for it to happen, but he knew it would be soon. The queen usually came back to the palace a little after the midday meal.

Hamed had declared the meeting over and most of the council men had left the room. Jafar moved to get up as well but a hand caught his wrist. His gaze turned toward it, Hamed's eyes on him.

"Sit with me?"

Disgust rolled over him, but he simply nodded. Leaning his staff against the table, Jafar sat back. Would it be the normal routine they went through? Where the man would apologize to him and they would share a quiet moment together? Hamed had become predictable. It was no wonder why he was so easy to manipulate.

"We didn't agree regarding what action to take last night and I still don't today." Hamed voice held an edge, but it softened as he looked at his vizier. "But I do appreciate your counter points. I hope you know this. I can't have people around me that always agree."

He stared, taken aback for a moment. It was like some backhanded compliment. "I...do what I can to offer up my opinion my sultan. I never meant to show disrespect."

Hamed's hand squeezed his arm, a warm smile on his face. "Of course you didn't. I know how passionate you get about things Jaf-"

A banging on the door interrupted them, both their heads turning toward the source. "Come in!" Hamed declared, leaning away from him. Hakim came through the door, quickly closing it behind him. The hairs on the back of Jafar's neck stood up.

"Is everything alright?" Hamed asked, walking over to Hakim. The man's eyes flashed to Jafar before meeting the eyes of the sultan.

"It is urgent my sultan. The queen…"

"The queen what?" He asked urgently, Jafar watching from afar. His hand covered the growing smile on his face.

Hakim's face crumbled slightly, bowing his head. "The queen has been killed, my sultan."

* * *

Well, bit of a nail in the coffin for Jafar there. He was already on that path but the sultan mayyy have pushed him over the edge a bit with that phrase. That and being called "second" really bothered him in the movie so I thought that would work here. And yeah, I randomly hint at Jafar and Hakim...I mean, Jafar was so HUNG UP on Hakim. Obviously cause he was a palace guard but I like to toy with the idea. Nothing happening with it in this story, but i may do a oneshot or something...

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! I'm 95% sure the next chapter will be the last cause we'll be caught up with the movie by then. But we shall see!


	8. Second No More

Author's Note: Last chapter guys...it's been a ride! Anyway, wanted to give you a heads up before the story. This chapter is a little different. It's multiple character's points of view, not just Jafar's like it mostly has been. It's them how they see Jafar and then, of course, ending with Jafar. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Did you get the chance to speak with the sultan after the service today?"

Sitting across from Hakim, Jafar cradled the glass in his hands carefully. The vizier's gaze had been turned to the window, the night sky a murky black. No stars insight. It seemed fitting for the day it had been.

The funeral was peaceful. It had taken time to make the arrangements, allowing Sabira's family to make the trek from Shirabad. The guests were distraught, as was everyone within the kingdom. The sultan and the princess most of all. The muffled crying of the princess still echoed in Hakim's ears.

Murdered. It had been unexpected, a shock when Hakim was first informed. He thought it a cruel joke. But there were screams he could hear from the streets and his heart froze when he came upon the scene. The queen, on the ground, blood soaking the dirt beneath her. Her eyes were closed, her face almost peaceful. As if she had just fainted. When he felt for a pulse, he knew that wasn't the case.

The image was burned into his mind. He hadn't slept much since the incident.

The devastation on the sultan's face when he delivered the news was another image that stuck with him. His hands had shaken, whispering to himself, demanding to see his wife. His voice was strained, tears forming in his eyes, and Jafar had risen from his seat and tried to comfort him.

Everything in the passing days had felt like a blur.

It was after the service now. Hakim's body was tired but his mind wouldn't stop racing through scenarios. He had invited Jafar for a drink to keep those thoughts at bay. The young man looked like he was one step away from passing out, the bags under his eyes and the dullness in his gaze concerning him. But he had agreed to join him.

Those dark eyes looked at him now, shaking his head with a sigh. "No. He was whisked off by the queen's brother...and then I assume to his room." He took a sip of his wine, clicking his tongue at the taste. "He hasn't been very talkative, as you can imagine."

"Yes...there's much to process." He leaned back in his chair, "Even more than what we thought."

"How are the guards who were with her?" Jafar asked with a raised brow, "Have they been able to provide anything?"

The older man sighed, shoulders slumping. Two of his bravest men, who always walked that route with the queen, caught off guard. It continued to puzzle him. "Akbar is still recovering. One of those rats got him in the side, so they want to watch him a little longer. Jarah is...as well as he can be." He placed his glass to the side, rubbing his hands over his face. "I just can't understand how this happened."

He heard the scrapping of the chair against the floor, Jafar bringing himself closer to him. His own glass put aside, he leaned forward, catching Hakim's eye. "Don't blame yourself."

Hakim held back a laugh. How could he not? He was head of the palace guards, he was the one they all looked to for guidance. "I should have been there," he countered, rubbing his eyes. "If I was there…"

"But you're never there Hakim." Jafar interrupted. "When was the last time you accompanied the queen on one of those walks?"

Hakim's frown deepened. Jafar was right, but he didn't like it. "I understand what you're saying Jafar, but still…"

The vizier sighed, leaning back in his chair. Hakim missed his presence being close.

Jafar rubbed his hand over his bearded jaw. "If you allow your mind to wander like that, you'll drive yourself mad." He paused, his expression thoughtful. His eyes flickered over Hakim, a small tugging on his lips. A touch of humor in his gaze. "You're overthinking it."

Hakim stared at him, taken aback. The response rolled around in his head before a memory played back in his mind. It had been a hot day, years ago, two boys swinging swords together. Simpler times.

He scoffed, shoving the vizier lightly on the shoulder. "You're really funny, you know that? Smartass…"

Jafar smirked. "A wise man once said…"

"Enough." Jafar chuckled as he was shoved again, Hakim taking another sip from his glass. It was nice, having him here like this. Relaxed.

Whenever he spoke with Jafar, it was usually relating to the palace or an issue with the kingdom. Hakim could see the walls that he built up around himself during those times. An icy exterior, though it made sense to him. Dealing with the kingdom's council would drive him mad. Just being in the same room as some of the members made him want to roll his eyes out of his skull.

Jafar was different. Quiet but forceful. Driven. Hakim had watched him long enough to see how he had changed from a nervous, blushing boy. There was little trace of that child now. He had seen that first hand when they had returned from Shirabad.

It wasn't a time he wished to re-visit.

"I did want to bring an item up to you if you would hear it?" Jafar asked, snapping Hakim out of his thoughts. The smirk still lingered on his lips. "With what has happened, I feel like there should be more guards on the streets. To make the people feel safe."

He nodded. "I agree. The guards have noticed that market place has become noticeably quieter since the incident." His eyes found Jafar's, a brow raised. "Will you have to discuss with the sultan?"

Jafar waved his hand. "No. I wouldn't want to bother him with such a small thing right now. He will understand, I'm sure." He frowned, taking the glass in his hand. "We'll most likely have to alert the other kingdoms that were coming to visit that...it would not be the best course of action right now."

Hakim watched him, biting back a small smile. The first time they had met, the then prince couldn't get Jafar to say two words to him. Only his name and even that was more of a whisper. From where he stood, the younger boy was only comfortable around the prince. He had mentioned to his father that he didn't think the boy would last very long.

He was happy to be proven wrong.

"What?" Jafar asked, brows furrowed.

"Nothing, I was just…" He trailed off, chuckling to himself. "I was just thinking about when you were first brought into the palace."

The vizier sat up, interest piqued. "Is that so?"

"I remember this small boy who wouldn't say two words to me."

"In my defense, your face doesn't scream inviting." Jafar countered, his eyes shining with humor. Hakim loved it when they did that. It brought warmth to them that he wished he saw more often.

"Nonetheless, I bet my father that he wouldn't last." He waved off the glare the other man was sending him. "Don't give me that look. It was based on one encounter. But, I was proven wrong. Happily so.

"You're still here and now you're vizier to the sultan. You worked yourself up to this spot, persevered. How many people can say that, especially with these walls?" Hakim leaned forward, eyes locked on Jafar. "I think that's something to admire."

Mouth agape, it reminded Hakim of a fish, Jafar's face flushed. He hadn't expected that. Swiftly, he took a long sip of his wine. The blush that lingered on his cheeks was cute. He missed seeing that.

"Well I …," Jafar stopped, frowning. It may be only for a moment, but Hakin had stumped him. He would wear that with pride for a bit. The vizier always had a cunning word to say. He couldn't keep the grin from his face.

"If we're going to compliment each other, I always thought you were a bit of a brute when we met," Jafar confessed. He placed the glass he fiddled with on the ground between his feet. "Like all the other guards I had met."

"Is that how you hand out compliments?"

The vizier waved him off with a huff. "But you weren't. You're actually...not as dumb as I thought you would be," he smirked, Hakim shoving him again. Jafar held up his hands in a defensive manner. "But you weren't. You're actually very smart and insightful and...good company to be in. And I appreciate that."

A silence settled over the room. The crashing waves outside the window brought a calmness to Hakim, his heart pounding in his chest. The candlelight flickered over Jafar's features, shined against his dark eyes. His fingernails dug into the palm of his hand. It would be so easy. Taking his face into his hands and kissing him, like he had wanted to do for so long. Even if Jafar rebuked him, he would still have that one moment.

No. He wouldn't take the chance, though he yearned for it.

A small, strained smile touched his lips. "Does it pain you to compliment someone? Because that seemed like it was painful."

Jafar frowned, annoyance flashing over his face. "I can take it back."

"Now don't be childish."

Jafar tried to resist more wine, but Hakim wouldn't hear it. They needed this night before going back to the harsh realities of the kingdom in the morning. A small escape.

His loyalty would always be to the sultan and the royal family. Nothing would ever change that, it was firmly planted in his soul. There was always a lingering fear within him about having to choose. Jafar was the sultan's most trusted advisor, Hakim knew in his heart that would never change. But politics changed people. Power changed people.

He only hoped that it wouldn't change Jafar.

The sultan's chambers acted as his sanctuary. The walls were his barriers from the day to day struggles that lingered throughout the palace. It was this space that allowed him to set his worries aside, for the short times he found himself within it.

This past week had been a trying time in the palace. The leader of Abbas and his son had left earlier in the day. The visit had been eventful if Hamed was to put it kindly. The leader was always an interesting man, even when Hamed had met him in the past. The man's son was another issue.

The moment they met in the grand hall, Hamed knew he would be no match for his daughter. The smug expression on his face, his discontent with the traditions of the meeting, the way his eyes lingered on Jasmine as she entered. He didn't have the see the disgusted look his daughter was making to know it was there.

He had tried to keep the peace between the two younger people. Jasmine, while polite, did not hide the fact that she had no interest in the prince. Most of the time, she was sitting with Dalia, outright ignoring the prince. His father didn't seem surprised that they weren't a match, but this didn't relive Hamed's stress.

He sat back in the chair at his desk, which was overrun by other papers and small gifts the leader of Abbas had brought for him. Absently, he turned over the gold figure in his hands. The process of finding a suitor was as exhausting as he remembered it being. Harder even.

Sabira was always better at this. She thrived when guests would arrive, knowing the best ways to entertain them. The warmth she brought to the room with her smile alone made everything easier. Even when the guests were unsavory, she would have a joke or remark ready to whisper in his ear that would make him laugh.

Sadness crept over him. The palace hadn't been the same since she passed. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't the same.

Losing Sabira felt like his heart had been ripped out from him. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think of her, see the ghost of her in parts of the palace. Jasmine shared a striking resemblance to her, personality and all. It wasn't often, but there were times when it hurt to look at her and, for a fleeting moment, see the mirror image of the wife he longed to be with.

Hamed loved his daughter, with all his heart. Jasmine was growing into a beautiful, powerful woman before his eyes. But there was a distance between them since Sabira's passing. They didn't discuss her. It was a mistake, not grieving together. Even now, there was another wedge between them. Jasmine wanted no part of this marriage process and she had made that point clear multiple times. He could see the hurt in her eyes as he refused her again of her wish to become the sultan. There were days when she would hide away, refusing to speak with him.

It was all a mess. Yet he had to keep the image of the unflappable sultan.

Turning the figure over again, he chuckled. No wonder his father had gone mad.

A knocking on his door brought him out of his thoughts. Who was disturbing him now? He sighed, placing the figure down.

"Come in."

Stepping through the open door, Jafar bowed his head. "My sultan." He walked into the room, stopping a few feet from the desk. As always, his expression was unreadable.

With how busy the day was, Hamed realized after a moment that he hadn't seen his vizier all day. Not a mistake by the young man's part, he was sure. "Jafar. I apologize, I must have missed you today…"

"It is no fault of yours, my sultan. I…" He paused, twisting the staff in his hand. "If I allowed to be honest?"

Hamed smirked, knowing exactly what the young man was thinking. "You didn't want to enjoy the lovely company of our guests anymore?"

He scoffed, shaking his head. "I've never met a man so dimwitt-"

"Play nice, Jafar."

The vizier hummed. While he was able to talk to the leader of Abbas, Hamed could tell that it was torture for Jafar. The man wasn't the brightest in the room, far from it, but he was still kind. But that wasn't enough for his vizier. Another issue he would have to discuss with him at a later date.

"I came to see how long of a break you would like before the next kingdom pays Agrabah a visit," Jafar asked, changing the subject. "I received another letter today."

The idea caused him to groan, resting his head in his hands. Did these kingdoms not understand that they could space out their visits? It was not as if Agrabah would disappear in a day. All he asked was for a moment of rest.

Jafar seemed to share the same sentiment. "I had a feeling that would be your answer. I can inform them that we won't be accepting visitors until after the festival?"

The festival. Another event that he would have to attend. Though this one put him more at ease and it wasn't as tricky to prepare for.

Hamed nodded, looking up at Jafar. "I agree. That way, we can allow the staff and others to rest at least. I can see they are growing exhausted."

"Of course," He answered, bowing his head. "I will write up a response in the morning. I'll let you to your res-"

"Stay." The word escaped him before he can think better of it. "If you are not busy, of course. It's been some time since we've talked."

There was a time when he would be able to read Jafar like an open book. Now, it was almost impossible. It was a trait he had picked up while growing into the politics of the kingdom.

It saddened a small part of him.

"I would...enjoy that, my sultan."

Jafar went to sit, but Hamed stopped him, rising from his chair. "No, let's take a walk. I've been in here for too long today."

The palace gardens at night were his favorite place to be. The crisp desert air brought him some relief, a sigh escaping him as they stepped outside. His gaze turned upwards to the night sky, tonight littered with stars. It was picturesque.

"I should have warned you about the leader of Abbas, he is a nice man but…" Hamed paused, laughing to himself at a memory from years ago. "He is a character."

"That is a nice word to describe him," Jafar replied, walking along with him. He had left his staff back in the room, which surprised Hamed. It was an item that rarely left his side. "I'm sure I could come up with something more...creative."

"I have no doubt about that. When I first met him, I had the same reaction."

Walking together, they talked. More so, Hamed talked. Jafar listened intently, providing his own opinion from time to time or adding a sly remark that would make him laugh.

It was different. The ease of the conversation was there, but it didn't come as naturally as it once had. When he was younger, there was a lightness that Jafar had. Always curious, asking questions, but staying respectful to a point that Hamed couldn't help but smile. Even as he grew up, it was there.

There wasn't tension between them. That wasn't the right word. But there was something that Hamed couldn't put his finger on. As if his vizier tried to keep his distance, while at the same time always being by his side. It troubled him. He couldn't understand what it was.

Was he overworking the young man? He had tried to give Jafar time off, but he always refused. His response would be polite, but Hamed would see something flash in his eye. Did his vizier think he would lose his position if he wasn't working? The question plagued him.

He trusted Jafar more than almost anyone in the palace. It would be foolish of him to even consider trying to find another man for his position. Jafar knew the ins and outs of the city better than anyone else, even him at times. Even when they argued, they would eventually come to some sort of agreement on the matter. There were still issues they didn't see eye to eye about but he didn't mind that. He found that having someone disagreeing with him from time to time made him a better leader.

Shirabad. It was the main issue that lingered between them. A sore subject on two fronts for Hamed. Sabira's kingdom, which she adored. When they would visit, she would take him to all the spots she loved. Introduced him to the people, regaled him with the history of the land. He longed to see it again.

It was also the place that held Jafar for five years. Time and time again, he tried to get to him sooner. His father stopped him at every turn, saying his life was more important than his messenger boy. It infuriated him. He was kept up at night, his mind not letting him rest. Whatever happened to Jafar, he would blame himself.

When Hakim had called for him down that dark hall, his heart jumped into his throat. Walking through that door and seeing him, it took everything in him not to cry. His body was littered with scars, visible through the rags they had him in. The light that had been in his eyes when Hamed saw him last, climbing onto that camel to Zeidan, was gone.

If Jafar blamed him for what happened, Hamed would understand.

"Hamed."

There was a squeeze on his shoulder, snapping him from his circling thoughts. Blinking, he looked around until his eyes met Jafar's.

His brows were furrowed, confused. "Is everything alright? You seem troubled."

Rubbing his eyes, Hamed nodded and patted his vizier's hand. "Yes, thank you, Jafar. My mind must have wondered...with these past few days…"

Jafar's hand slid off his shoulder. "I understand. It's been very busy." He gestured back toward the path they had taken. "Would you like to go and rest?"

The sultan hummed, laughing to himself. "Now you're making me sound like an old man. But yes."

Returning to his chambers, Jafar grabbed his staff. His hand traced down the handle. For a moment, Hamed swore he saw the jeweled eyes flash. But he brushed it off as a play of light in the room.

"I will see you tomorrow, my sultan." Jafar bowed. "A much calmer day, I'm sure."

"Before you go Jafar," the young man turned back to him. He smiled softly, resting his turban on the desk before him. "Thank you, for all your hard work. It doesn't go unappreciated. I hope you know that."

The brown eye's watching his widened slightly before his expression was schooled. He bowed his head. "I do what I must, my sultan. But thank you." He paused, his jaw tensing for a moment. A hint of a smile was on the edge of his lips. "Goodnight."

The door closed, Hamed sighed. The young man continued to be a puzzle for him. He wished there was something more he could show his appreciation with, but there was no higher placement in the land but his own role as sultan.

Sabira would know the right thing to say.

Anger coursed through her. Jasmine's fists clenched at her sides as she stormed through the hallway leading away from his father's room. The nerve of that man. She could hear the condescension dripping from his tone over and over in her head. What right did he have?

What happened to make him become like this? All he does is taunt her now, mock her at any chance. But she remembered a time when that wasn't the case.

When had Jafar become this cruel man bent on pushing her down?

Spotting the tail end of Jafar's cloak around the corner of the hall, Jasmine picked up her pace. It would stop here. She wouldn't allow him to mock her again. To belittle her like she was nothing.

"Jafar!" She called, her tone laced with anger. The vizier stopped, a few feet standing between them.

Turing, a smirk was spread across Jafar's face. It made her skin crawl. There was nothing right about him.

"I thought you were ordered to stay in your room princess?" He questioned with a mocking tone. "Or will you disobey your father again?"

"How did you know?" She challenged, stepping toward him. "Did you make Dalia tell you? Because if you hurt her…"

The man rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. He stepped toward her slowly. "Why would I waste my time with that? You should know better than to try and sneak out." Towering over her, Jafar leaned down until they were eye to eye. Wickedness shined in his gaze. "And if you do...don't let it be so obvious."

Jasmine bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep herself from losing control. He thought her weak. No more than a simple plaything.

She glared at him, suspicion in her eyes. "What happened to you? To that boy who was kind?" Her voice was harsh, seething with the anger coursing through her. "When did he become a vile and cruel man?"

His brown eyes had darkened to a point where Jasmine could mistake them for black. They bore into her, like a predator watching his prey. She stood firm, her eyes not leaving his. This was his true nature. How could her father and the other's within the palace not see?

"Not everyone has the sheltered and carefree life you're so privileged to have," he hissed darkly, his expression blank. "You talk of ruling...of leading a country. When you haven't experienced even a quarter of what I have."

Frozen, she watched him lean away from her. The hairs on the back of neck stood up as a mocking smile formed on his lips. "It's best you know your place."

What freighted her wasn't the threat. Not the anger she could hear in his voice. It was the coldness of the look in his eyes. It pierced her. Something sinister simmered below the surface of the man standing before her.

"If there is nothing else, princess?" He asked cooly. Before she could respond, he turned away from her and proceeded down the hall. She didn't dare move until she saw him disappear around the corner.

Gripping her hands together, she could feel them trembling. She turned and walked in the opposite direction, taking a deep breath to calm herself. There had to be something she could do.

Her mind lingered back to the times when she found herself playing with Hakim or Jafar when they weren't busy. Hakim would show her basic defenses, simple things a child would understand. Her mother would look on, slightly amused when the young guard would allow her to take him down.

Jafar would listen to her babble about what she had learned with her teacher that day. Or she would pepper him with questions regarding the book he had been reading. He was quiet but would listen intently and answer things the best he could for her.

Where had that gone? Had it all been an act, from the day her father brought him into the palace? She didn't want to believe that. It didn't seem possible for someone to play such a long con. It could have been there all along and no one had seen the signs.

Entering her chambers, Jasmine thew herself onto her bed. Burying her face in her pillow, she thought of when he returned to the palace. The coldness that had lingered in his gaze as he looked upon her and her mother before being ushered away.

The image of him standing beside her father, whispering in his ear, sent chills up her spine. Jafar would bring ruin to this kingdom, she felt it in the pit of her stomach. The was no evidence to back her. No one would listen to her. But she would find a way to prove it and expose him.

She couldn't sit by and continue to watch her father be fooled by this snake in human form.

Power pulsed through him. Coursing through his veins, unlike anything he had ever felt before. His eyes lingered on those left in the room.

Aladdin, that foolish boy, had been banished. Left to die a slow and painful death. He had told him to strive for more and he could have. He had held the lamp. And he had wished for what? To make pretend as a prince? Win the princess's heart? Jafar sneered at the idea. It was too small an idea. For that mistake, he would suffer.

Hakim was another matter. In his mind, he knew that the guard would stay loyal to the former sultan. But there was a foolish part of him that yearned for Hakim to pick him. He had been the one person he looked to. Even trapped in the dungeon, he warned Hakim of the choice he would have to make. There was conflict in the guard's eyes before he left, leaving him with Iago to break him out.

Again, he had been passed over. There was no one he could turn to. No one but himself to trust.

"I could simply kill you all," he announced cooly, gaze flickering between Jasmine and the sultan. He paid the handmaiden no mind. "But that would be inadequate repayment for the years of humiliation and neglect."

The lingering eyes of the councilmen, the guards, even the servants, flashed in his mind. The mocking tone in their voices when addressing him. Acting as if he was nothing more than dirt. A small child treated like a rat. A young man who was the end of the jokes passed around the palace.

He stepped toward the group, his eyes locked on Hamed. "Remember your place Jafar…" he quoted with anger, snarling as he took another step toward them, "You forget yourself Jafar."

The cool air of the Shirabad dungeon tickled his skin, his grip on the staff tightening. The dirt of the floors still stuck beneath his nails. The scars that crisscrossed on his back pulsed, the sensation of the leather ripping across his flesh still burned in his mind.

Holding up his hands, Hamed's eyes widened at the words. "Jafar…" He pleaded, trailing off.

"No." Jafar stopped, mere feet away from them, his eyes like daggers. "What you need...Baba," he hissed the last word, mockingly, "is to suffer. Like I have suffered."

Slamming his staff on the ground, he watched as the sultan crumbled to his knees. His hands clawed at his chest, looking up Jafar. Pain etched onto his face, unable to form words through his clenched teeth.

A sick glee ran through him. Finally, they would understand. They would learn what it was like to have everything precious stripped away. To understand what real pain felt like and there is nothing that can be done to stop it.

He watched as Jasmine desperately looked around for help, holding her precious baba with such care. How funny and cruel fate could be. There was a time long ago when their roles were reversed.

In the market place, all those years ago. Hamed had towered over him, kneeling down and offered him a simple roll. At that moment, it meant everything to Jafar. No one had spared a single moment to provide him with such kindness. It had allowed hope to slither into his heart. A hope that he wouldn't be left alone again. That he would be cared for.

Hamed had ruffled his hair, his smile bright, and offered him a home.

He should have known better. Jafar was nothing but a tool for the man. He had never cared for him. The fact that he let this man bring that kind of feeling into his heart enraged him.

Twisting his staff, he continued to choke the life out of the man that fooled him.

Hakim had betrayed him. Jasmine thought she could stand up to him. Hamed thought he could use him.

There was no one he could trust but himself. It was something he had taught himself over and over again while on the streets of Agrabah. To show kindness was to show weakness. Anyone could hurt him, use him, turn that kindness against him. He allowed himself to fall into the delusion that he could trust these people.

But no more. Now, no one could stand up to him.

He towered above them all, Jasmine's eyes gleaming with hatred. A sinister smile spread across Jafar's face.

Second to no one no more.

* * *

Author's note: There he goes, bout to do his big dumb plan. What a guy, that Jafar. Anyway, thank you all again for all the support! It really means a lot to me. It's very rare that I actually complete a multi-chaptered story so I'm very proud that I was able to do that for this.

And listen...you don't know the restraint I had to have not to just...have Hakim and Jafar kiss. I don't know how this happened to me, this started off as a little thing and then I sat around yesterday for 15 minutes debating if I should put it in. But! Some of you have expressed interest in them, so I will be writing something up for them.

Also, I loved writing Jasmine's bit. I adore her to pieces and, to me, she's the only one who knows Jafar's true nature. So I had a great time writing that, I also liked the idea of her bugging Hakim and Jafar when they weren't busy when she was young. It's cute!

Hamed and Jafar continue to crush my soul. It's just a fact. Because he obviously does love and care for Jafar but dumbass can't see it cause he's blinded by jealousy and greed. I also loved writing the stuff with Sabira, I hope if we get a sequel, their relationship is touched on.

Anyway, long note! Thanks for sticking around :)


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